The Cleopatra's nose affair
by Svetlanacat
Summary: A new assignment... and they have to protect a strawberry blond lady, with golden green eyes... Well... Illya have to... COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Alexander Waverly thoughtfully puffed at his pipe. The two agents waited, patiently. Then, he observed his men. They wouldn't like it. Alexander Waverly himself didn't like it. But he had no choice. Consequently... they hadn't, either. They would obey, and he knew that he wouldn't have to argue. Well. Not too much... But this mission, this affair... it wasn't really an Uncle affair.

Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin looked at him. He could read them. Curiosity ... Impatience, quite ... gluttony. He wouldn't disappoint them... Confidence, too. That...

The Old Man was bothered. Clearly bothered. He liked to create a stir, of course. So, he usually took time to speak. Not so much time... It was amazing. At least, Waverly didn't look troubled, worried. Just, bothered. The two agents exchanged glances, inquiringly.

-Young men...

Faint sight of relief...

-Young men, I know... that your last mission... has taken a heavy toll... among both of you.

Napoleon Solo looked offended. Illya Kuryakin dumbfounded.

-This assignment...

He grabbed two files, and held them. The two men automatically stretched their hands, at the same time. And at the same time, they reluctantly broke off. Alexander Waverly sighed.

-This assignment is quite... safe.

Both of them looked now offended. Even... disgusted. Suddenly, Alexander Waverly relaxed. Napoleon Solo, the CEA, and his partner, Illya Kuryakin, no matter how efficient and brilliant they were, needed to be taught a lesson... That might be fun.

-Sometimes, young men, you have to save the world. Sometimes, you have to save one innocent life. This time...

Alexander Waverly was... grinning.

-This time, you'll have to ensure the safety of ... a very important person.

Napoleon Solo frowned. Illya Kuryakin pouted. Body guards ? Alexander Waverly would use this name. But it was just ... babysitting ! Napoleon Solo grimly asked.

-And... Who is the important person, sir ?

And the Old Man grinned again. That sent shivers down their spines.

-The important lady, Mr Solo, is... a lady. A young, charming and very clever lady.

Oh, no... The Russian sighed and his partner doubtfully raised an eyebrow.

-Young ? How... young, sir ?

Luckily, the « lady » would be... a kid. The naughty, capricious daughter of ... someone.

-Don't worry, Mr Solo. She... isn't a child.

The Old Man opened a file.

-She is ... a strawberry blond, with... golden green eyes. She is really beautiful.

Illya Kuryakin didn't look dumbfounded : he was. That... that wasn't Waverly. And, of, course, his partner was like the cat who was going to eat the canary. A strawberry blond with golden green eyes...

-One of you will be her bodyguard. He won't leave her, for one minute. The other will have to ensure the safety of different places.

The Old Man puffed again at his pipe.

-Mr Solo, you'll see at this. Mr Kuryakin, you'll be the lady's escort.

The Russian gulped.

-But... Sir... It's... it's not really my field... Napoleon... is more qualified ...

Alexander Waverly raised his eyebrows, and Illya Kuryakin knew better than to go on arguing.

The young lady...

A strawberry blonde with golden green eyes. At least, Napoleon's face was a great consolation... Illya Kuryakin, resigned to his fate, asked.

-Whta's her name, sir ?

-Oh, of course, you are right, Mr Kuryakin. The young lady is... Miss Cleopatra. She is used to ... speak English ( not American, Mr Solo...) and Russian. You are, by the way, the most qualified, Mr Kuryakin.

Now, he would dismissed them... If he made up his mind to give them the files... But, no.

-Mr Kuryakin... Miss Cleopatra is really a beautiful, charming and clever young lady. However... you have to know that she happens to have ... character.

-Tststs, Illya, my friend ! You'll have to be careful... she might bite you, or... scratch you ...

Napoleon Solo chuckled... until he noticed Waverly's face.

-I... I was joking, sir. Miss Cleopatra is a very respectable lady.

-She is, Mr Solo. That's for you... Mr Kuryakin, we have to talk. Then, you'll meet miss Cleopatra.

Napoleon Solo was dismissed. Politely, but clearly. He made the best of it, smiled and got up, whispering at his partner's ear.

-Remember the poor Marcus Antonius...

Alexander Waverly waited. He hesitated.

-Mr Kuryakin... you'll probably don't like it. Here... here is Miss Cleopatra's file.

A poker-face, Waverly thought. The Russian studied the files, staring at the photo. No grimace ? No comment ? He looked at Waverly.

-As this... isn't a trick, sir, I guess that ...Miss Cleopatra is really a very important lady..

-She is the keeper of a lethal secret, Mr Kuryakin. You'll have to protect her for one week. Everyday. Round the clock.


	2. Chapter 2 : Charmer vs charmer

Cleopatra stretched herself with delight. She lithely walked towards the mirror, and stared thoughtfully at her reflection. She screwed up her eyes, appreciating the sight. Quite beautiful. Golden green... Not really. Golden, yes. With precious hints of green. Jade ? Emerald ? She shook her head. Strawberry blond. That was amazing. She preferred _blond vénitien_. Strawberry blond sounded like a... cake ? An ice cream ? Er... an ice cream... why not. The couch was soft. Perfectly soft. The ideal place for an afternoon nap. Anyway, she had nothing else to do. She lay down, stretched her legs, etting her mind wandering. She would meet soon her new escort. Once more. What would he look like, this one ? Because it was a « he »...Once more. She expected the worst. The last one : Sam... Sam was tolerable. He kept his distance from her and sometimes, he spoke to her. He must have been told to do so. Before Sam... One who ignored her, who treated her scornfully. He had been smiling on the other side of his face. She had seen at that. On her own. Then, one, who talked to her as if she was a mentally retarded person. He wasn't spiteful. Just... aggravating. Then... the funniest of all : Atishoo ! Of course, it wasn't his name. His name ? She didn't remember. And Sam. The boring Sam. She suspected him of being terrified. Sam... And now, someone else. Of course, nobody asked her. Oh, she had tried to complain. All she had got were looks. Various looks : questionning. Worried. Compassionate. Annoyed. Infuriated. Worse... Sometimes, they ignored her.

The door opened. That beat all ! No courtesy, really. She was to protest, but she changed her mind and chose to stand in her dignity. She eyed up and down the newcomers. What... ? What was ... that old thing ? Sam was here, of course.

-That's Cleopatra, sir.

Sam ! Insolent fellow ! **MISS** Cleopatra ! But she shut her mouth.

-She is really beautiful...

Okay, that's right. But you can speak to me, old man !

-Oh, yes, she is beautiful but she is...

He whispered something at the old man's ear. She couldn't hear, but the old man's grinning face spoke for itself. She pouted.

-Mr Kuryakin ? Come in, please. Miss Cleopatra is waiting for you.

Mr Kury... what ? Cleopatra gave up her indifferent look and craned towards the door. And he entered. That was... interesting.

-Hello, miss Cleopatra. Nice to meet you, young lady. My name is Illya Kuryakin. But you can call me Illya.

Cleopatra looked daggers at the sneering Sam.

That was... different. That was polite. That didn't yell. That didn't hurt her ears. Not so bad, eventually. That deserved a reward. She nodded at the young man and articulated his name.

-Il-ly-a

Sam was obviously puzzled. Fascinated. The old man looked amused. She ignored them and concentrated herself on her new escort.

-You are really beautiful, young lady. An extraordinary blond vénitien. Well, I know, they call it strawberry blond, but blond vénitien is more... suitable. Don't you think so ?

Very, very interesting. And he had beautiful hair, too. Blond. Golden blond. It looked soft. Perhaps she could touch it ? And his eyes. Blue. Blue as... Blue. She liked blue eyes. This young man was... likeable. The two others went out. Good riddance !

-Perhaps Mr Kuryakin could stay, and start from now ? He seems to have the feeling,with her, and... Well, you know, she can be obnoxious. I don't always understand what she says, but... her look speaks for itself.

Alexander Waverly smiled.

-I am sorry, young man, but you'll have to ensure miss Cleopatra's safety until tomorrow morning.

Cleopatra slipped on the side of the couch. The invitation was clear, and Illya Kuryakin sat down.

-You must be bored to tears, in this bedroom, all day long. If you please, we'll try and find something interesting to do.

He spoke to her. No. He talked to her. And... he didn't try to touch her. Oh, he wasn't afraid, as the poor Sam. No, he was polite. Respectful. She sighed with delight, and shyly offered her cheek. He smiled, slowly raised his hand. A strong hand... Reassuring. And he caressed her face, with his fingertips. Slightly. Gently. As he leaned forward, she expectantly stretched her neck, and brushed his chin with hers.

-You are a charmer, miss Cleopatra.

So are you, Illya, Cleopatra thought.


	3. Chapter 3 : A cat in the twilight

The golden green eyes gazed at him. With... disappointment. A cat ! Sam shrugged his shoulders. He was an agent. A spy. And he had to take care of ... a cat. And this one... Oh, yes, she was beautiful. But she was quite ... posh. He knew ordinary cats. He loved them ! Cats who purred when you gave them a stroke. Cats who played with everything hanging, rolling... This one... When he entered the room, she peeked her ears up. Her beautiful ears. She stretched her neck. She stared at him. Then, she sniffed with obvious disgust, and settled down on the couch, again. A cat !

Back to his office, Alexander Waverly looked at his Russian agent. He wondered about what he thought. He was a section 2 agent. Trained for action. This young man was one of his best agents... But Waverly marvelled at the recollection. Illya Kuryakin, deathly efficient Uncle agent,... talking with Miss Cleopatra... Miss Cleopatra being a very charming, very beautiful ... cat.

His pale blue eyes mat the Russian's.

-No question ? No complain, Mr Kuryakin ? You rightly could...

Illya Kuryakin brushed some strawberry blond hairs away from his sleeve and his lapel. He didn't answer, just waiting Waverly to explain.

-Mr Kuryakin... You probably wonder why I asked my ... top section agents to look after... a cat ?

-Miss Cleopatra is an Abyssinian cat. She is really beautiful, and very nice.

The young agent turned grim.

-You told me about a lethal secret, sir...

-Oh, yes...

Alexander Waverly filled his pipe, lit it and puffed with delight.

-Cleopatra belongs... belonged to a scientist, Mr Kuryakin. A chemist. He worked on some chemical weapons, in the GDR. He... defected, He lived in Switzerland. Unfortunately... his « friends » looked for him, and tracked him down.

Alexander Waverly sighed.

-He has been killed, Mr Kuryakin. But he ... suspected something, and the day before..., he entrusted Miss Cleopatra to our correspondent's care. As the guardian of his secrets. We took her here, and...

-The guardian of his secrets ? What does that mean ?

Alexander Waverly raised en eyebrow, and averted his eyes.

-That's the problem, Mr Kuryakin. We don't know. We have the cat, but we haven't the directions for use. They thought they had time. So...

Illya Kuryakyn's features strained. He looked chilly.

-You... you don't intend to...

-Of course not, Mr Kuryakin !

The Old Man looked horrified. But the Russian was still doubtful. The innocent pale blue eyes didn't fool him.

-Cleopatra will be examined, of course. But very carefully. She won't be harmed.

Illya Kuryakin clenched his fists.

-I beg to differ, sir. I know, and you know that considerations of a higher order will always prevail... over a cat's life. Won't them ?

Alexander Waverly sheepishly smiled. He was a little puzzled. The Russian's concern was obvious, and the threat thinly disguised. Illya Kuryakin was in charge of the cat's safety. He would protect her. Against enemies. Against all of them.

-I am afraid you are right, Mr Kuryakin. But... although they lacked time, Cleopatra's master said that.. the secrets would die with her. So, as you see... Miss Cleopatra has a powerful life insurance.

-Just hope that the others know that, Mr Waverly.

-Er... yes, the others. They were eager to get back the cat, in Switzerland. But... it looks like they gave up. However... apparently, Thrush offered to help.

-So obliging, as usual...

-You guess the deal, Mr Kuryakin.

The two men kept silent.

-Mr Kuryakin... you'll introduce miss Cleopatra to Mr Solo, of course.

Illya Kuryakin nodded with a devilish smile.

She had put on airs and graces with the Russian. Intentionally ! Just to bother him ! And now, she lay, languidly, on her cushions.

-You are making a fool of yourself, buddy !

His voice caused the cat to jerk. She stared at him, eyes wide opened. He shook his head. He... it was stupid. He was jealous. Jealous of a cat. He attributed to her human postures. Human feelings. It was a cat. An animal. An animal didn't think. She didn't think ! She wasn't posh !

She simply hadn't been taught her place ! The Russian, Kuryakin, had probably eaten some fish, or some chicken.

Anyway, he wished him good luck with the creature ! As he filled her bowl with fresh water, he noticed that she was watching him... Inquiringly. Her ears pricked up. Wide-eyed. Her tail nervously wagging. Her head turned toward the doorn and she froze.


	4. Chapter 4 : The cat's whiskers

Napoleon Solo worked in their office. With a detached look. He just nodded, when his friend entered, but didn't ask anything. Illya Kuryakin chuckled deep inside. Well. Not so deep inside, apparently. His partner raised his head, rolled his eyes, and went back to his notes.

The Russian sighed. A typical Napoleon's strategy... He generously gave up. After all, he was the one who had got the blond !

-Miss Cleopatra is a very charming... person.

However...

A gap. A few seconds. Napoleon Solo, the CEA, was working. He wouldn't pay any attention to some entertainment. Then...

-Oh ? Yes, Illya ?

He met the ironical blue eyes, and eventually smiled. He wasn't a man to bear a grudge...

-That's good news, Illya. You'll... we'll have to take care of her for a week. Her timetable ...is quite busy.

He held a sheet of paper, and his face darkened. He looked at his partner, inquiringly.

-Is... Miss Cleopatra ... sick, Illya ? She is scheduled to go to various hospitals, laboratories, everyday...

Illya Kuryakin shook his head, smiling.

-No, Napoleon. Miss Cleopatra is fine.

-Good. Well... can you tell me about her ?

-She is a beautiful blond vénitien lady. That's to say strawberry..

-I know what blond vénitien is, Illya... So ?

-Her eyes are extraordinary,... expressive. A perfect silhouette, Napoleon : thin, lithe... She is stylish. Very clever. And she has very seductive manners.

His usually so self restrained partner was quite enthusiast about Cleopatra. Napoleon Solo sneered. Interesting. This young lady... Young ?

-And, how old is she ?

-What a discourteous question, Napoleon, my friend ! Miss Cleopatra is ... a young lady.

About three years old, he thought.

-Napoleon ? Would you like to meet her ? She would be pleased. You know, I am afraid that she is a little bored.

-Lucky cat ! It's dinner time ! Our mash, my sandwiches ! Rise and smile, gloomy creature.

Gloo... Gloomy creature ? A less self possessed cat would have gulped. Cleopatra frowned and eventually chose to ignore. Sam had sometimes dreadful manners.

The meals. Not that she was fussy about food, but she would have reasons to complain.

First : the men who brought it. Two men. Always. They were quick. Cautious. When they entered, they looked around, as if she was to leap at their throat.. They muttered. Sam muttered. They burst into deafening laughter. Then, they went away. Ignoring her.

Here they were. The elegant Abyssinian cat stood on her hind legs, staring at the door. The three men were talking.

She eventually deigned to approach. Obviously reluctant. Unhurriedly. A well educated lady cat. She sniffed. She sighed. Not so bad.

She tasted. Turkey... Well... edible.

What an efficient escort ! Sam laughed with the two others. They didn't pay attention to her. She prepared to mew, just in order to warn the "gloomy" Sam... when her ears gracefully pricked forward. Her whiskers quivered with delight. She imperceptibly stretched, with a devilish cat's smile.

Her brain calculated, planned. In a blink of an eye. And she went into action. Silently. She raced to the door, crossing the room with the speed of light, and rushed out.

As he followed his partner through the corridors, Napoleon Solo couldn't help feeling sorry for the young Cleopatra. The safe apartments, in the Uncle headquarter... were safe. Comfortable. Strictly comfortable.

A stampede. Some cries.

Three men ruthlessly bumped into them

-Have you seen her, Mr Kuryakin ?

The Russian stood on his feet, and flatly asked.

-What happened ?

-Cleopatra ! This... creature... she escaped, sir. She ran out of the bedroom !

Napoleon Solo sneered. That was a good start ! Beautiful, charming, and, nevertheless, obviously intractable. Eventually the perfect match for his Russian friend...

However, there was no reason to fear. The young lady couldn't run so far... The automatic doors, the alarms... All she could do was to hide somewhere. They would easily find her. As he was opening the mouth to say it, he realized that he was alone. He sighed, and joined the investigations.


	5. Chapter 5 : A cat on a hot tin roof

After all, she just wanted to go for a walk. This room was really boring. She had explored it back and forth. Nothing interesting. No danger. No mice. Okay, she didn't eat mice. But she loved chasing after them. As an imaginative cat, she sometimes embarked on hunting down... something. Something imaginary. There was not even a fly ! And plus, Sam's look : condescending, clearly mocking at her. She sighed. Sam and his piece of string, with his cork. He stupidly shook it under her nose. What was she expected to do ? She didn't know. The cork... well, it stank ! However, those corridors were as bothering as the room. This depressing gray. Those doors : closed. Really no fun.

She heard a stampede and smiled. At leat... Sam would take some exercise. He needed it... Oh ? That was open.

Napoleon Solo stopped running. Cleopatra was an amazing person... As he walked along the corridor, two guards passed him : he called at them.

-Did you see a young lady, a blond one, strawberry blond ?

The two guys shook the head, with something like a devilish smile. Oh, discreet, but devilish. Had Napoleon Solo lost his blond ? Interesting.

She couldn't go out of this building. She couldn't go down. Apparently, she could run upstairs. Eventually, this place looked interesting. Narrow, dark..., clean. Well... odorless... And she went on. Climb, my girl, climb ! A door again. It was a little infuriating. Closed, of course, and no cat flap. But... She sniffed and looked around. She sneered. Poor Sam. No cat flap. Just a ventilation hole. She was a very thin lady. Very agile...

The sight was quite amusing. The three men sheepishly stood, with downcast eyes. Alexander Waverly was telling them what he thought about the event. Illya ? Illya wasn't there. As the CEA tried to carry on a strategic retreat, the Old Man barked his name. Of course...

-Yes, sir ?

-Where is your Russian friend, Mr Solo ?

-Er, I think he is looking for Miss Cleopatra, sir.

-Good. And you, what are you doing, so ?

-Er... I'll help him ?

-Good idea, Mr Solo.

That was... outside. A roof. Night, with stars, and the moon. She took a deep breath. Delighted. She casually trotted towards what looked like a nice observation spot, and smartly jumped on it. She stared around, cautiously peeping at what was below. Oh... it was high... An ironical voice made her jerk.

-And what the hell do you think you are doing there, girl ?

Girl ? She scornfully eyed the irksome individual. He sat down and looked at her, up and down. He had a fellow... younger...

-I am Whiskers. He is Paw. What's your name ?

She hesitated. Those arrogant blue eyes ...

-My name is Cleopatra. You can call me Miss Cleopatra.

Whiskers burst into loud laughter.

-Don't be such a fusspot, girl !

She looked daggers at him. Vainly. Whiskers was a Siamese... Overbearing. Ill-mannered.

Paw shyly approached.

-Don't worry. You know, my real name is Achilleus. And Whiskers is ... Artaxerses. We live in the building, next to this one. And you ?

Cleopatra, ignoring the older Siamese, gently blinked at Achilleus, and answered proudly.

-I live there. This is my roof, and..

Footsteps. The two Siamese cats disappeared. Cleopatra sighed with delight.

-And here is my favourite escort ! You found me... Il-ly-a !

The Russian smiled and headed towards the beautiful Abyssinian. Whiskers rolled his eyes and motioned Paw to follow him.

_-I want this cat. As soon as possible ! And I want the animal alive !_

_-But we can't attack the Uncle headquarter, sir._

_-They will bring the cat to some laboratories, I guess. All you have to do is to take advantage of it. It isn't that difficult, is it ?_

_-But the cat will be protected, sir._

_-The cat's life is sacred. Uncle agents... are expendable._

-Sir ?

-Yes, Mr Solo ?

-Illya found Miss Cleopatra. They are... on the roof, sir.

-On... the roof ? Let's go.

When the two men came out, Cleopatra was sitting on Illya Kuryakin's lap. She was purring loudly. She was rubbing her head against his. And she was amorously gazing into his eyes.

Napoleon Solo gulped. Was that... the strawberry blond ? Miss Cleopatra ? Charming ? Beautiful. A... cat ?

-Nice cat, Illya !


	6. Chapter 6 : Are we cheating, Bastet ?

-So... It's a cat...

Golden flames flashed out from Cleopatra's eyes. Wide-opened, they looked up and down at this ill-mannered creature.

Napoleon Solo had nothing against cats. He liked their elegance, their grace. Slender... Thin... Supple. Independent. Aloof. He smiled : he knew that some people, in the Uncle, compared his partner to a cat...

-Beautiful, but not very nice...

Cleopatra's tail whipped the air. She began to lick her right paw, in sign of complete indifference.

-Cleopatra ?

The cat gracefully blinked at her escort.

-Cleopatra, look : this is Napoleon. He is my friend, and he'll be your escort, too. He is ... _usually_... a very nice, very polite man.

Alexander Waverly made a strange noise. As if he sneered. Napoleon Solo gulped. Illya Kuryakin was making the introductions... ? A cat ? The said Cleopatra stared at him, defiantly.

Napoleon ? What an amazing name, for a human being ! She had known a Napoleon. A beautiful cat. ... This Napoleon...well, he was quite handsome... except for this stupid expressionless face.

-Napoleon, this is Cleopatra. As you see, SHE is a very beautiful Abyssinian cat and SHE is an easy-going lady.

The said easy-going lady inclined her head. Napoleon Solo smiled doubtfully. Was she really greeting him ?

-Well, Illya, do you think... I can stroke her ?

The dark haired man put a tentative hand on her back. Willingly, she arched it. And he began to stroke her. A dog man, she thought. He stroked her ... energetically. But he was Il-ly-a's friend. So, she forced herself to purr... and suddenly stopped. Oh, no. Sam...

Sam was panting. As he saw the cat, he sighed with relief.

-You are here. Wait, I am going to pick up her harness.

Illya Kuryakin raised an eyebrow.

-A harness ?

Sam rolled his eyes... The Russian's arrogance ! The posh creature refused to be carried. She would struggle, squirm, hiss, spit out, and eventually bite, scratch !

-Of course, as she seems to like you...

He just imagine the cat's clutches scratching and knitting the Russian's blond mop...

Illya Kuryakin smiled, gently cupped his arm around the cat and stood up. Cleopatra leaned against his chest. She looked around, put her two forelegs on his favorite's shoulder, and her chin on her paws. Soft. Lulling. Comfortable. And Sam's face ? A real delight. He was... dumbfounded.

They went back to Waverly's office. Sam had been dismissed, to Cleopatra's satisfaction. She was presently dozing on Illya Kuryakin's laps. Napoleon Solo was really amused.

-Perhaps Illya could take the c... Miss Cleopatra to his home, sir ?

She didn't open her eyes. Her right ear imperceptibly pricked up. Good Napoleon...

-No, Mr Solo, no. Cleopatra... is the guardian of a very important secret. Tomorrow, she is scheduled to be at 9 am at the MET, where she'll meet a research scientist, a specialist of the Ancient Egyptian Art. Everything is planned, young men. Mr Kuryakin, and you Mr Solo, you'll join her at 11 am. From this moment...

Finally... she didn't like this old man. Waverly hesitated. After all...

-From this moment, Mr Kuryakin, if you don't mind... you could actually take the cat... Miss Cleopatra... to your home.

Eventually... "Sir" was likeable.

-I don't mind... Sir ?

-Illya Kuryakin thoughtfully stroke the cat's head. He spoke with a suppressed voice.

-Cleopatra... has to go to the MET. Why ? What's the connection with that ?

He pointed his chin towards the file. Alexander Waverly sighed.

-No, Mr Kuryakin. There is no connection. We could do without having to go, but... that's impossible. No way. Cleopatra is an Abyssinian cat, and his previous owner was in close touch with many people, about Abyssinian cats, the goddess Bastet, and so on. Our Cleopatra is apparently very alike the said Bastet's statues.

Napoleon Solo was puzzled. He didn't see the point. The Uncle could easily... Alexander Waverly noticed his expression.

-No, Mr Solo. The said research scientist is a relative of someone who is a friend of someone who is a relative... of someone very powerful. So, tomorrow morning, Miss Cleopatra will go to the MET. You'll pick up her there. This night, Cleopatra will sleep here, with her actual escort.

Cleopatra frowned. But it would be just one night. She had acknowledged that she would be taken to Il-Ly-a's home, after that. So, she could bravely bear one more night with... Sam.


	7. Chapter 7:That's because she's a statue

-I beg your pardon ? What did you say ? You ... lost the cat ?

-Yes, sir. She... She did it again. She escaped... She raced out the room and I can't find her !

-Oh, you can't ? What have you in mind, now ? You intend to sleep ? To sleep ? To sleep ?

Waverly's face was contorted with anger. He came closer. And he yelled. He yelled. Anf he came closer.

-To sleep ?

Sam startled. He sat straight in his bed. His forehead damp with sweat. His heart was beating wildly. He hardly got his breath back. The cat... where was the cat ?

The sitting room was dark. Just a night light. Cleopatra was spread out on the couch. Peacefully asleep. Asleep ? Was she breathing ? Sam came up to the couch, with stealthy tread. He couldn't see. He sighed and lit the room. The cat jerked, rolled back and prepared to fight. Then, she stared at her opponent, and relaxed, despising.

Stupid man ! Idiot ! She curled herself up and conspicuously sheltered from the dazzling light behind her paw. If she might make a suggestion... perhaps this idiot could turn the light off...

_-Where are they going ?_

_-Apparently, to the MET... I don't understand... On Monday, the Museum is closed._

_-Are you kidding ? Do you really think that a cat would plan to visit the Museum ? We could take advantage of the place._

Sam hold the cat carrier, as they went up. Carefully. The cat was calm. Well... It was ridiculous : five UNCLE agents... One « innocent »... But the innocent was... a cat. His four fellows surrounded him, watching around. Ridiculous. Once they entered the Museum, he relaxed. The place was desert. Well, almost : no visitors. A charming lady led them to the man who wanted to meet the c... Cleopatra.

Cleopatra looked around. An amazing place. She trotted elegantly. She was in a very, very good mood. The man had flattered her : her ears, her eyes, her head, her neck, her body... She was perfect. Of course, she knew that. But, well, she could have blushed... He had weighed her, measured her. She had been a very docile lady. And the icing on the cake : Sam was fuming. Eventually, the man had led them to this room. Of course, carrier. Then, harness and leash.

-Are you sure ? I could carry her...

-No, no, you couldn't.

Cleopatra sighed. Of course, she didn't like to be carried. Usually. But she couldn't see anything ! This Sam was really dense. Too bad...

-Look, this is Bast, or Bastet. She was an Egyptian goddess.

-A goddess... cat ? What a strange idea !

Cleopatra stopped, turned to Sam, and rolled her eyes. Poor Sam.

-You know, in Ancient Egypt, cats were very important. People used to revere them.

Sam sneered. Cleopatra ignored him. She listened carefully at the man. So interesting people, those Egyptians...

-Cats hunt rats, mice.

-They still does, and we don't revere them !

-That because our modern life doesn't depend on food supplies, like grains. Cats fought snakes, too.

Sam took some steps forward : Cleopatra pulled on her leash, and he had no choice but to follow.

-Bastet was known as one of the protectors of the pharaoh. She cared about pregnant women, home, and... cats. Oh, look at her, I think she really wants to see !

Cleopatra was stretching her forelegs against the wall. Vainly. The man sighed, and came up to her. Ignoring Sam's warning, he raised gently, so that she could see. She blinked at the sight. Statues. Statues of ... cats. And this one. So beautiful. Ears like hers. Thin, but with smooth muscles.

-Come on, they are really alike !

Cleopatra craned up until her nose touched the showcase. The statue could have been made on Cleopatra's model.

Sam hissed, puzzled.

-Amazing...

-She is very nice, and docile. A gentle cat, really.

-Sometimes.

Cleopatra was to look daggers at the irksome creature when her ears pricked up. Sam got out his gun.

-What is this noise ?


	8. Chapter 8 : If cats could talk

Cats are never coward. Cats are ... careful. Provident. Cats are ... just wise. Cleopatra wasn't coward. She had enjoyed her visit, eventually. The universe revolving around her... Meeting Bast... But now all hell broke loose...

The nice man with his white coat looked at Sam with astonishment. Sam and his gun. Sam speaking to his pen. As usual. Sam obviously in trouble, however. She was going to stand her ground. Her ears pricked up. Eyes wide open. Fur stood on end. She whipped the air with her long tail. She stared at Sam. She stared at the door. And she stared at the man. Astonishment ? The nice man... wasn't so nice, apparently. He was coming up to Sam, and he held something.

Cleopatra howled. Not a simple yowl. Cats can mew, of course. They can yowl. They can wail. Cleopatra howled. The two men startled and simultaneously turned towards the cat. Sam caught sight of the other man's weapon. The door blasted.

People were stirring, running all over the place. The persistent alarm guided them through the Museum. No one paid attention to them. Illya Kuryakin sighed. His partner shrugged his shoulders.

Four Uncle agents, dead to the world. Sleep inducing gas. Sam... seriously injured. Doctors were taking care of him. One man had been killed. A man with a white coat. An innocent ?

Sam managed to report, eventually. The man was a Thrush man. An impostor.

-Where is the cat ?

Napoleon Solo frowned. Illya Kuryakin's voice was harsh, urging. He grabbed his partner's arm, but the Russian shook his head. No time for compassion.

-With all due respect, Napoleon, we have to get the cat back. I am sorry.

Sam whispered, out of breath.

-She howled... she warned... me and then... she raced... out of the room. ... As she did... yesterday. I passed out...

There is time to investigate. Time to think about. And there is time to run. The time had come to flee. To fly out of this place. Cleopatra held out against the urge to scratch those men, and vanished into thin air. The previous evening, she had played. It was a game. Now, she fought for her freedom. For her life. They cursed. They ran after her. She didn't hear them.

-_Where is the cat ?_

_-We don't know. The damned creature ran like the devil. We lacked time, sir. The alarm..._

_-The alarm ? You didn't switch it ?_

_-We improvised... we had to handled many things, and..._

_-Get that damned cat !_

Cats have a pretty good sens of direction. The panting Abyssinian flattened herself on the floor, under a desk. She craned forward and stared around. First, she had to go out of this inhospitable place. Then, she would have to make her way back to...

Her ears pricked again. Her nose quivered. Her whiskers shivered.

Napoleon Solo didn't want to upset Sam any more than they already had. So, he tapped his shoulder and went out. As he came back to the hall, he paused to listen. He knew that people talked about his relationship with the Old Man. He was considered as the Successor. Amazingly, he thought that Alexander Waverly was often making common cause with his Russian partner. For example... their sens of leniency.

The four Uncle agents hung their head, sheepishly.

Careless. Self-confident. Incompetent.

One of them, an imprudent man, tried to reply. To justify.

-It was just a cat, we were five and we didn't think...

Napoleon Solo could have sworn he had seen a blue flash of lightning. He blinked and stiffened. Illya Kuryakin hissed softly.

-Mr Waverly thought it was worth having five agents to protect a cat. Miss Cleopatra.

He pointed his chin towards his friend.

-And the CEA, Mr Solo, takes it that have doubts to express about his decision...

He went out. Napoleon Solo just added, flatly.

-When you are asked to protect... a log... You protect... the log. Period.

And he followed his partner. They reached the entrance hall.

-Where is she, Illya ? Do you think they had caught her ?

-No, Napoleon. She is somewhere, in the MET. And we have to find her as soon as possible.

Cleopatra sighed with delight. This voice. This walk. Those hairs. She would tell him. Her secret. He would know how to help her.

-Il-ly-a...


	9. Chapter 9 Keep an eye on the cat

The CEA stared at them with disbelief. He could have sworn the cat had... No. She had mewed. Simply mewed. And walked. No. Danced towards his partner. Her paws bouncing rhythmically on the floor. Completely silent.

And now, she snuggled up in Illya's arms. Purring. Amazing...

A nap. A quite comfortable place for a nap. She perhaps should ask about Sam... What was doing this Napoleon ? He talked to his pen... A new human habit ?

-Yes, sir. We found ... er; no. The ca... Miss Cleopatra found Illya. Yes, sir. Oh, good news ! Yes, sir.

Napoleon turned to the couple.

-Illya, Sam will make it. He'll be fine. Waverly is waiting for us... with...

She didn't put her tongue at him. She was a well-educated lady. But he could remember her name !

-I'll pick up her carrier.

-No use. Let's go !

-Are you sure ?

-I wonder...

Cleopatra half-opened an eye. This tone. The 'Napoleon » was Illya's friend, but...

-Cleopatra is the keeper of a she must stay alive. Right ?

The cat showed her claws, casually. Napoleon Solo peeked at her, frowning. He whispered.

-I have sometimes the very unpleasant feeling that she can make out what I say...

Yes, I can, dear ! And I don't really like it...

-Napoleon ?

-Well, I just intended to... She keeps the secret, and she must be alive. That turns down some assumptions...

-As, Mr Solo ?

-It isn't tattooed on her skin...

-Tattooed ?

-Napoleon refers to an antique practice : a master shaved his slave's head, wrote his message, and just waited until the hairs grew again.

-Interesting... It could be worth checking...

Illya Kuryakin grabbed Cleopatra's paw. Alexander Waverly looked at her strangely. He stretched a tentative hand towards her. Shave ? Did she hear « shave » ?

_Don't dare and think about it !_

Waverly gave up, meeting eyes like gimlets. The Russian agent's hand stroke the cat's fur.

_-Where is the cat ? Back to the Uncle HQ ? Are you joking ? You had orders ! You should have shot them and..._

_-And the cat would have fled again, in the streets ! She wasn't in a carrier. Kuryakin held her. It was too risky._

_-I want this cat. Alive._

-Napoleon is right, anyway.

Cleopatra gulped. Il-ly-a ...? The reassuring hand lay on her back.

-We are waisting time, sir. All those medical examinations will be useless. Cleopatra 's secret lives with her. It isn't tattooed. It isn't in his blood, in his internal organs.

Napoleon Solo sneered impatiently. Alexander Waverly raised his eyebrows.

-Of course, Illya, of course. This brilliant idea had just to occur me ! Cleopatra learned the secret by heart. And she'll tell us. All we have to do is to ask !

She sighed at the ironical tone. However, in a way, « Napoleon » had pointed the fact. She took her Bastet's posture and stretched her neck towards her Il-ly-a.

-Something like that, Napoleon, something like that.

Cleopatra's cold nose brushed her escort's chin, in order to reward him.

-That's a very interesting theory, Mr Kuryakin... Nevertheless, Miss Cleopatra's appointments are to be kept.

The Old Man took a puff at his pipe.

-And now, young men, you don't fail to see our problem, I guess ? Our Thrush friends are obviously eager to pick up the cat.

The cat... She had a name... Napoleon Solo clenched his lips.

-They will stop at nothing. Today, they missed their opportunity. They watch us, sir. I thought they would try something when we went out of the MET, but...

Illya Kuryakin softly cut in.

-But I carried Cleopatra. If they had shot me, she would have fled away. Now, they are probably watching the HQ.

-So, Cleopatra will stay there.

-So Cleopatra will go home with me. They won't suspect that.

She leaped lightly to the couch, looked around her, and started to wash up. A cat's ablutions are something serious. You need time. And privacy. Ablutions can't be broken off. Il-ly-a and « Napoleon » were in the kitchen. She washed behind her ears, carefully, and ended by his long tail. Then, satisfied, she decided to go and inquire after dinner.


	10. Chapter 10 : Cat's eyes

_"A cat's eyes are windows enabling us to see into another world."_

-Your friend is here, Illya...

Amused, Napoleon Solo studied the cat. She had stopped and stood in the doorway. Her ears pricked up, she was obviously looking around, registering the least detail.

-Cleopatra could be a good recruit. Look at her : she assesses the risks. A very careful lady.

« Napoleon » was unpredictable. However, he was on the right track. Then, she jumped onto the table. A standing, lithe jump. Napoleon Solo, impressed, whistled.

-No run up.

-No.

And Il-ly-a served up her dinner. As he put her plate on the table, Napoleon Solo frowned.

-Here ?

Cleopatra looked daggers at him. His cheeks and his chin were dangerously close... First, she ate properly. Secondly...

-The Pharaoh's cats usually ate in their master's plate, Napoleon. Gold plate, of course.

-Of course...

Il-ly-a knew that. She blinked at him and started to eat. A sophisticated cat. Unhurriedly. She didn't devour. She ate. And, of course, "Napoleon" commented.

-Classy !

She resisted. She didn't put out her tongue. _You whispered, my friend, but I heard you._

The older agent ignored the cat and rubbed his chin..

-You were joking, weren't you ?

-About ?

-The ca... Cleopatra. You can't seriously believe that her master taught her the secret. A cat doesn't speak. She doesn't write.

Cleopatra shrugged her shoulders, and chose to ignore the insult. She sighed, coming up to her favorite. She took her Bastet's posture. Her golden eyes met « Napoleon »'s.

-I am not sure she really likes me, you know...

* * *

At last, they were asleep. Cleopatra smiled. She was fully awake.

* * *

The Thrush man hated Uncle. He hated all the Uncle agents. That was clear. He hated cats. All the cats. This one, especially. « She » had to be kept alive... « she » ? An animal. A cat is an animal. Period. Nothing more. « She »... The creature was probably soundly asleep on its cushion. In the Uncle HQ... or anywhere else. Lucky cat... He would spend the whole night in his car. Just in case. He had orders. _Watch, and look for the cat ! Yes sir... Good night, sir._

Whiskers stopped, worried, and raised the left foreleg. Paw imitated the move.

-Look at this man... He is watching. I don't like it. At night, human race usually sleeps.

* * *

Napoleon softly snored in his bed. Good Napoleon... She trotted silently towards her escort's bedroom, and leaped on the bed. She stared at Il-ly-a. Fixedly. He would have been a beautiful Pharaoh. Well, a blond one. Why not ?

* * *

He was pleasantly dozing. The heat could have been oppressive, but a gentle breeze cooled it down. Peace, calm, and silence. No... He could now hear some distant sounds. He sighed and opened his eyes. Above him, he saw tall trees. A grove of trees. He stood up and brushed his tunic. His tunic ?

What... ? Where... ? He looked around. That was not his bedroom. Next to him stood a sort of shrine. He had no choice and silently came closer. It was a temple. A large road, paved with stones, led to the Nile. The Nile ? He heard now voices and music. Songs, flute, and... sistrum. Sistrum ? He didn't know the place, but in a way, all was familiar. Uncomfortable feeling... He took some steps forward, sheltering himself behind the trees. The Nile was covered by boats. Men and women singing, dancing...

-Welcome in Bubastis, Il-ly-a...

A soft feminine voice. Gentle. Tentative. He startled anyway and turned to the women. In front of him, in the shrine, a statue. A beautiful statue. The goddess Bastet.

-Listen to me, Il-ly-a.

* * *

Napoleon Solo was thirsty. He walked carefully. The cat... He cursed. The cat wasn't on the couch. She had a rare skill in getting lost. Where was she ? He lifted up cushions, looked under the couch, on the bookshelves. He suddenly hit a chair which of course came crushing down. He froze. No reaction. For once, his partner lacked watchfulness. A soft feminine voice startled him. Soft, suppressed, but obviously upset.

-Would you please, Napoleon, stop fussing around ?

He turned to the woman. A severe Abyssinian cat, standing on the coffee table, looked at him, up and down. She inclined her head. Napoleon Solo shivered.

-You... you are a cat. Cats don't speak.

Cleopatra smiled with indulgence.

-Do they ?


	11. Chapter 11: Cat's shadow show

As a well trained Uncle agent, Napoleon Solo never get into a panic, whatever happened.

The golden eyes stared at him, wide open.

As a well trained Uncle agent, Illya Kuryakin never gave way to a panic. Dreams were dreams, nightmares were nightmares. Something thudded. An unusual sound. Bubastis faded and the Russian, gripping his gun, got up. Unusual but explainable. He wasn't alone : his partner and Cleopatra were there. However, he walked silently to the door.

The cat shrugged her shoulders and sighed.

-Clever, very clever!

Napoleon Solo whispered, pointing his finger towards the defiant animal.

-You are a cat. Cats don't speak! Cats don't shrug their shoulders!

She stuck out her tongue at him.

The moonlight bathed the living room; Illya Kuryakin paused to enjoy the shadow show. Cleopatra was sitting on the back of the armchair, in her Bastet's posture. In front of her, the Section 2, number 1, the Northwestern Uncle CEA, Napoleon Solo himself stood firmly on his barefoot. He was obviously ready to fight. In his pyjamas, for once. He pointed a finger towards the cat. Illya Kuryakin couldn't see his eyes, but he knew the icy look. It always impressed the enemy.

Cleopatra raised her right paw and started to lick it, carefully. Not impressed at all.

The Russian turned the room light on.

Cleopatra frowned. Of course, this clumsy Napoleon had succeeded in waking up Il-ly-a. Clever, really clever!

Two efficient Uncle agents, the top team, in the middle of the night, ready to fight their of them stood, with his gun. The other looked as if he was to pounce on his prey. Barefoot, in their pyjamas.

An efficient Abyssinian cat licked her paw, ignoring them.

The Russian couldn't help chuckling. Napoleon Solo turned to him, the finger still pointing forward.

He opened the mouth, hesitated, and breathed out. They looked at each other. Luckily, Uncle respected privacy...

Cleopatra jumped on the seat. It would be more comfortable. She went back to her own assignment: cleaning. Mask, ears, paws, chest...

-Illya, my friend... Don't ask.

The two men sat down on the couch, divided between laugh and embarrassment.

* * *

The Thrush man rubbed his eyes. He had been asked to watch. So, he watched. It was boring, incredibly boring. It was probably useless. He would never tell that to anybody, but he couldn't understand why his superiors had never ordered to blast the Uncle HQ, in New York. He sighed, glancing at his watch. The damned cat was soundly asleep, somewhere.

* * *

-Would you enjoy some drink, Napoleon ?

Cleopatra raised her head, and followed her Il-ly-a , with an elegant gait, the tail at attention. Some drink? Why not... and perhaps a little snack?

Napoleon Solo had listened to his friend's account. It was a dream, of course. A statue had welcomed Illya...Honestly, he had told his own story : Cleopatra had scolded him... They would never report to the Old Man about that. However... they could test Waverly's composure.

Illya Kuryakin went back, handing two glasses. Of course, the cat trotted behind.

-She clings to you... I thought that cats were very independent animals.

Cleopatra leaped onto the couch, purring at him. She had decided to launch a feline charm offensive. This Napoleon was Il-ly-a's friend. She had to cope with him. The Russian smiled.

-Cats are independent, Napoleon. But they like company. They are social animals. I think she would like you to stroke her, my friend.

He stared at her. Golden wide open... innocent eyes. Cleopatra blinked and arched her back. Napoleon Solo gave up... He stroked the soft fur.

-What about the secret, Illya?

-I read some books about Bastet.

Of course.

-My dream came from that, I think. A prayer greeted Bastet as the lady of Bubastis. She was also known as the eye of Ra.

-The eye of Ra?

-Bastet was the defender of the Pharaoh, and of the god Ra. All Ra's defenders got the name of Eye of Ra.

None of them noticed the twinkle in Cleopatra's eyes.

-And that helps us?

-She is known to be the lady of the chest, or of the jar...

The secret could be in a chest. Yes. What use was the cat? Illya Kuryakin went on.

-People who came to her temple danced and sang. And...

-And?

Cleopatra listened attentively.

-Every night, Bastet fights Apophis, the god of the evil, of the night, in order to protect Ra, the god of the sun. The sunrise, every morning, proves her victory.

Clever Il-ly-a.

-Is Apophis a mouse?

« Napoleon »'s hand was close. Less than one inch from his claws...

-Napoleon... Apophis is usually depicted as a snake. A giant one, and Bastet cut his neck, every night.

The older agent kept silent. The cat's name wasn't Bastet. She was... Cleopatra.

-A snake? Cleopatra, no, not you, young lady. Julius Caesar's Cleopatra... died bitten by a snake...

Cleopatra's master was a scientist. He worked on chemical weapons.

Illya Kuryakin stretched his hand towards the cat, and stroke her.

-She had to be alive, Napoleon. Her eyes ? The eye of Ra...

Napoleon Solo raised his hand, grabbing Cleopatra's paw.

-Her paws ?

Cleopatra wrenched herself free, uttering a scandalized mewing.

-Her voice ?


	12. Chapter 12: Wait for the cat to jump

Cleopatra frowned, her face slightly furrowing as she stared ay Il-ly-a. She came closer, step after step, and sat beside the pillow. He was soundly asleep.. She smiled and her nose traveled up and down the fair hair. Such a beautiful fur... She would have to wait, anyway, because it was too late. She hoped that « Napoleon » would be kind enough to allow her to do what she had to...

Alexander Waverly wasn't one to waste time in vain compliment. However, though he would never admit it, he was impressed. So, he did what he usually did on that occasion: he knitted his eyebrows, creasing his forehead, looking quite doubtful, and even disapproving. He repeated.

-Her paws? Her eyes? Her voice?

That was really encouraging...

Alexander Waverly took a puff at his pipe, stared at it, and took another puff at it.

-And the ... secret would be in a chest ...?

-Or in a jar, sir.

Illya Kuryakin was obviously unaware of Waverly's amazement, Napoleon Solo thought. And he tried to exchange a look with his partner. In the middle of the night, he had been really thrilled by the idea. In the daylight, he realized that their story was a quite ridiculous mix of Aladdin and Alice in Wonderland. The Old Man was doubtful ? So was he, now.

The Russian went on, grabbing Cleopatra's right foreleg. The cat lent herself to the experience, willingly. She spread open her pads, showing her sharp claws. Napoleon Solo sighed, rolling his eyes at the sight. Those two were damned show-off... They wouldn't fool Alexander Waverly.

Waverly leaned forward and studied Cleopatra's pads. The cat stayed obligingly motionless.

-You mean... pad prints, Mr. Kuryakin?

Napoleon Solo gulped. Was he serious?

Alerxander Waverly gently rubbed the pads, causing Cleopatra to purr shamelessly. Illya Kuryakin released his grip, and the cat immediately started to lick it in order to tidy up her fur.

-And what about her eyes?

Oh, yes, her eyes. Alexander Waverly slid his hand under Cleopatra's chin and again the cat obligingly obeyed, craning her neck, her eyes wide open. And she purred again.

-Something similar to our iris identification, I guess, Mr. Kuryakin? Clever. Very clever.

Illya Kuryakin smiled, of course, and Napoleon could have sworn the cat was smiling, too.

Alexander Waverly looked thoughtful. He leaned back in his chair.

-Pad prints, eyes identification... and... a sort of vocal identification?

Cleopatra still obliging softly mewed at the Old Man. Napoleon Solo's eyes met his superior's and was quite pleased, as he noticed Waverly's amazement.

-As you, see, sir, Miss Cleopatra makes out all we say... Next, she'll tell us where is the chest. Or the jar.

Alexander Waverly raised an eyebrow, but his eyes twinkled. Illya Kuryakin shook his head. Napoleon Solo was displaying his innocent look number one: the angelic Napoleon. Cleopatra, aggravated, wooed and curled in a ball on her Il-ly-a's lap.

Switzerland... Why not? The chest, the jar, the box, the container, whatever it was, was in Switzerland, with its content. They'll have to look for it.

-Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin? Where is that chest? Any suggestion?

Napoleon Solo shrugged his shoulders: it was an evidence.

-In Switzerland, sir. Somewhere in her master's home, on in his lab!

Waverly turned to the Russian.

-Mr. Kuryakin?

Illya Kuryakin gently stroked the cat's back. He hesitated.

-I am sorry... I beg to differ, Napoleon. Strategically, Cleopatra is the code. She lived in Switzerland. I think that the chest is somewhere else. You wouldn't keep the code with the safe...

Napoleon Solo sighed, closing his eyes. His partner was infuriating... but his reasoning was logical, and he was probably right. The older agent could just imagine them investigating for hours ... and hours about all the comings and the goings of the cat's master... Plus... of course, all Cleopatra's appointments.

* * *

The two sedan stopped at the same time. Four Uncle agents got out the first one and rushed around the second, looking around. The Thrush henchmen peered at each other. Six men and a cat... But the Uncle agents would be compelled to cross the main court yard. They couldn't park closer. No way. They would be exposed, for at least one minute.

The six men walked in accordance with Waverly's plan.

The Thrush leader pointed at the group. The blond Russian carried the cat basket, carefully. The Uncle CEA, Napoleon Solo himself, walked in the lead. The four others walked surrounding the Russian and the cat.

-I want this cat, alive, as soon as possible.

The orders were clear, the end would justify the means. In other words... He stiffened: it was the moment. He gave the signal and all hell broke loose. A short shooting battle, and a resounding victory. He bent forward to pick up the cat basket. The blond Russian lay on the ground. The man hesitated. The Uncle agent wore a flak jacket, as his fellows. A bullet in the head, however... But he had orders, and he took hold of the mewing basket.

Alexander Waverly frowned as a shy voice reported about the events. He knew... he knew for sure that their enemies would do anything to get the cat. They had made a surprise attack, and contrary to all expectations, they had defeated six Uncle agents. No casualties, however. But they had got the cat.


	13. Chapter 13: A cat in the bag

They wore flack jackets. Nevertheless, Alexander Waverly knew better than to insist. A flack jacket was a useful protection unless some nasty enemy shot you in the head, in cold blood. The opportunity he had offered them could have cost him six precious lives. Shooting the head of Section two, getting rid of both Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin was a temptation. It was a calculated risk and it had been close. It always was so. He didn't worry about the cat: as her life was sacred, she would be safe.

-At least, the cat will be quite safe!

Napoleon Solo's voice amazingly mirrored Waverly's thought.

* * *

The Thrush man carried the cat-basket triumphantly, though he wasn't as confident as he looked. The vivid memory of Illya Kuryakin's mop, of Illya Kuryakin's head, which head he had at gunpoint, would haunt him. He wouldn't be blamed, for he had obeyed orders. He hoped it, however. Maliciously, he shook the cat-basket. The damned creature mewled. It mewled incessantly. Mewling... no, it didn't mewl, it howled. It was deafening, especially in a car. Al least, now, there was some reason to mewl... And he shook the basket again, viciously. It wouldn't kill the creature, and... it gave him relief. Here he was. He took a deep breath and knocked at the door.

The two men opened the basket, carefully, and stared at it. The creature kept silent, and unexpectedly passive.

-Pussy? Pussy cat? Come, get out...

_« Pussy? » How interesting!_ The cat flattened herself in her refuge. They didn't fool her. « _Pussy »..._

-Take her out!

_Just dare and tr_y! The reckless hand's shadow appeared. The cat hesitated: teeth, or claw? Biting? Scratching? She was really good at both. She had innate skills. The hand was getting in the basket. She would scratch, first. Abyssinian cats have long legs, and as soon as the undesirable hand would be at paw's length... She smiled.

The man yelled, shaking his hand. Some drop of blood fell on the floor.

_Don't come whining, stupid boy! You had been warned_!

The basket moved, suddenly, and fell over. The cat rolled lithely on the floor. One second later, she stood, looking unflinchingly up and down at her enemies. _Okay, boys, okay._ She made her coat bristle; her ears pricked up, her eyes wide open. She was cornered but she was determined to sell her life dearly. Wasn't it her duty?

* * *

Napoleon Solo peeped at his partner. He felt uncomfortable, he felt guilty. Things were not what they used to be. They had been defeated. An unbearable failure.

-They could have killed them, sir.

-It was a calculated risk, Mr. Solo. We had marksmen, just in case. Our friends are now coping with a nice Abyssinian cat. They wanted to get one, they got one. Miss Cleopatra is safe. Lady Victoria is a charming person, too, and she'll be safe.

Charming, charming... This Victoria was a stand-in, her stand-in. She had to be charming. Il-ly-a stroked her absent-mindedly.

-They could have killed them, however.

Alexander Waverly sighed. The Russian agent was right. He knew, Napoleon Solo knew the meaning of the word « expendable ». They accepted to be expendable. They hardly accepted to have any stand-in...

-Yes, Mr. Kuryakin, they could have. The man who picked up the cat basket could have shot your stand-in. You don't like it, neither do I. Cleopatra's safety is worth the price... Not to mention that it should ensure that we'll keep our mind free of worries, for awhile. Well, young men, what about your investigations?

Napoleon Solo frowned. He had foreseen it and he had been right. They had compiled, read, studied, analysed piles and piles of papers, files... Staring at a computer was boring... and in that case, useless. Cleopatra's master wasn't a traveller.

-Nothing, sir.

Alexander Waverly raised an eyebrow. « Nothing » wasn't an acceptable answer.

-But we are still looking for a lead, sir.

-Good.

Illya Kuryakin was rubbing Cleopatra's neck.

-Something happened, last year... It might be interesting.

* * *

Victoria stood on a cushion, beside a plate. Sometimes, diplomacy was the key.


	14. Chapter 14:We're all mad here

-Interesting.

Alexander Waverly folded up again the magazine and stared at his agents. An Antique Egyptian Art Exhibition had taken place in Geneva, the previous year. The Met had lent some pieces. Apparently, Cleopatra's master had visited the Exhibition. The MET specialist was in Switzerland, too. There were many questions among which the Old Man pointed out two: was he a full Thrush agent? Had he met Cleopatra's master?

The cat was soundly asleep on her escort's lap, apparently. Suddenly, she leaped on the desk, fully awake.

Cleopatra made sure that everybody was looking at her; satisfied, she trotted towards the magazine. She sat in her Bastet posture and stared at Alexander Waverly, eyes in eyes. Illya Kuryakin smiled at her with a knowing look. Napoleon Solo was fascinated. Sceptic, but fascinated. Then, the cat arched her back, and started a strange ballet, circling the magazine, clockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise again. At last, she stopped, still staring at the Old Man, her right paw on the magazine.

Alexander Waverly raised his eyebrows, obviously charmed. This cat is a show-off, Napoleon Solo thought; and he lectued himself; Cleopatra was a cat, she wasn't a human being. She doesn't think. She doesn't speak. She wasn't a show-off. The explanation was so simple.

-She smells her home, her master.

Again, however, he could have sworn that the cat had shrugged her shoulders. She ignored him, she didn't pay any attention to his voice. She still stared at Alexander Waverly. The Old Man frowned and shook his head.

-It's a lead. But we have several. It could be a coincidence. And, Mr Solo, Mr Kuryakin, it wouldn't be a good thing; if Cleopatra's master has entrusted his secret to our Met specialist, Thrush is in possession of the container, and of the direction for use. We have the cat.

Napoleon Solo bit his lips, as the idea occured to him.

-I am sorry, sir, but it would be easier to force the container open. I can't really imagine our Thrush friends wasting time with a cat, her eyes, her paw, her mewling.

As the Old Man kept silent, Illya Kuryakin replied.

-You are right, my friend, but our Thrush friends are probably cautious about doing that. If you forced the chest, the safe open, what could happen? The formula could be destroyed. So, whatever they think about it, they'll be careful, and patient. If they are in possession of the chest.

Alexander Waverly peeped at his Russian agent.

-What do you mean, Mr. Kuryakin ?

* * *

The two men stared at the cat who slept on her cushion. One of them, his hand dressed and still painful, with an urging desire to wring the creature's neck. She had eaten, she had cleaned herself, carefully.

-What are we doing, now, sir?

-We have the cat. The cat is the key.

His superior spoke thoughtfully; he didn't answer, he just thought about the situation in loud voice.

The Thrush man knew better than to speak. His own thoughts wouldn't have pleased the other man; the cat was the key? The cat-key opened what? And how? He silently sneered, as he imagined this posh cat in a grease-stained lock. It would howl! A harsh voice startled him.

-It's your fault! All you had to do, in the Museum, was to get a cat and to take it back with our man! The cat escaped, and the man had been shot. Perhaps YOU shot him! Now, we must found where he hid the secret. You must. And you would be well advised to hurry!

It could be in Switzerland, in Egypt, or in the US. Or in France, in Great Britain, somewhere in the world. First, they didn't even know what « it » was. A box, a chest, a safe, a jar ? Something with some electronic devices. How interesting! Something was somewhere!

Victoria feigned sleep. Those two men were pitiful. However, sooner or later, they would understand. She hoped that Cleopatra would handle the situation. She didn't really worry, for Cleopatra had efficient assistants, her Il-ly-a., and Napoleon. Cleopatra preferred Il-ly-a. But Napoleon was charming, too.

* * *

-Cleopatra's master trusted the MET scientist, so much that he gave him the chest or whatever it is. If this man had been a full Thrush agent, he would have taken advantage of the situation, immediately. He didn't!

Napoleon Solo went on, following his partner's reasoning.

-Later, when he heard of the scientist's death, he realized that he could make money with that. He talked to our Thrush friends, he gave them some elements, but no more. Not the chest with its content.

Alexander Waverly nodded.

-Assuming that you are right, Mr Kuryakin, Mr Solo, where is it?

-It could be anywhere, but I think it's here, in New York.

Illya Kuryakin leaned forward, and picked up Cleopatra. Alexander Waverly puffed at his pipe.

-At his home? In his office?

An idea crossed Napoleon Solo's mind. he couldn't believe that he was saying that.

-We could take Cleopatra to the different places. Just in case.

Cleopatra purred with delight. At last, they understood. She cuddled up against her favorite; Illya Kuryakin chuckled.

-The lady agrees, Napoleon.


	15. Chapter 15:A cat who had taken umbrage

Sulking was typically a human behaviour. It was childish and quite useless. Cats didn't sulk.

Cleopatra disapproved; of course Il-ly-a had explained, but though she knew he was right, she disapproved. The two men were gone, and now, she was bored to death again. At least, they hadn't locked her alone in a room. She lay on her cushion, in the old man's place. Every visitor – and she guessed that they were unusually numerous – paid a tribute to her beauty. She should have been delighted; it was pleasant, of course, but definitely she wasn't a figurehead.

She lithely bounded on the desk, peeked at the mess, and undertook to help the old man with all those papers. She pawed a pile, looking inquiringly at the man.

-Young lady, you are bored, aren't you? Do you want to play?

Play? Cleopatra, her eyes wide open with incredulity, stared at the stupid creature. She wasn't a kitten. She wanted to help! Would he be kind enough to tell her what to do? She insistently pawed the pile, again and again, drumming her tail on the desk. Alexander Waverly sighed. The poor cat would get mad if she had to stay there. He called his secretary.

* * *

-Your little friend didn't like it, Illya, whispered Napoleon Solo.

They had paused, looking intently around. The street was calm, a few cars, some passers-by. Nothing unusual. The MET scientist, Green, lived in this old brownstone. Illya Kuryakin hissed an inaudible answer and headed towards the entrance. He pressed the bell. The door opened and a suspicious face craned out.

-What is it about?

The magic Napoleon Solo's charm went into action, and they found themselves in front of Green's apartment. The older agent thanked the lady, and commented mockingly.

-Some are good at handling cats. I am good at handling the ladies.

The Russian unlocked the door, muttering something about the caretakers.

The apartment was rather huge, and amazingly empty. Green was a scientist, an archaeologist, and he gave the lie to some old prejudices. Almost bare bookshelves, few files, few things.

Illya Kuryakin stared thoughtfully at the bookshelves; he turned to his partner.

-That's a scenery, Napoleon. Look at those books. They are about Egypt. Shhh! Listen to me. They are as good as new. They have been distributed on the shelves in order to delude an inattentive visitor. Two here, three there. No classification, no logic.

Napoleon Solo grabbed a file, and read it.

-I agree, Illya. Those files are either empty or filed with impressive headed notes. The MET, of course. But it's nothing. You are right. This is a scenery.

He held his file. Illya Kuryakin held a book. They looked at each other.

-However, Illya, he lived there. The caretaker knows him and...

Napoleon Solo froze.

* * *

Cats don't sulk, but they are very good at standing in their dignity. Cleopatra felt like offended. The old man had chuckled, stroked her and the woman « Lisa » had come to take her away, back « in your bedroom, pussy! ». Her nose quivered. She recognized the corridor, the smell, and a devilish thought occurred to her. She first leaned limply against Lisa's shoulder and purred. Of course, the woman melted, releasing her grip. With the speed of the light, Cleopatra wrenched herself free and swooped down. As the abashed Lisa looked at her, the corridor was already desert. Cleopatra flew out. She didn't run. She flew, her paws hardly brushing the floor, until she stooped in front of a door. She pushed it. Three leaps later, she went out of the building and stretched herself with satisfaction. This roof, in the daylight, was quite interesting: places to leap on, places to lie on. Places to hide behind. Poor Lisa. She scampered towards her post of observation, looking around for the two Siamese cats. A small talk would be fine. Whiskers was a little rude, but Paw was a charming young boy. Whiskers... Whiskers was nice, too.

Cats have a sharp ear, and Cleopatra sneered. That was the well-known rustle of cat's paws One, two cats. She was delighted. Eventually, a good day.

* * *

His vision blurred. He heard his partner's voice. Illya tried to tell him something, to join him, but he was as glued to the spot. His voice was more and more distant, his silhouette too.

His vision blurred. He felt like he was above a drop, but he didn't fall. His partner looked paralyzed. Illya Kuryakin tried to call him, but he didn't react. His silhouette was more and more distant.


	16. Chapter 16: Her heart on her sleeves

At the expense of a great effort, Illya Kuryakin managed to move akwardly. He felt now like glued on the spot, spot he couldn't even see any more, but he struggled with his numbness and staggered back to the bookshelves. His legs, his arms, all his muscles were both limp and stiff . He concentrated himself on his partner's silhouette, shivering in a grayish mist. His right hand brushed something; it was cold and hard, some stone, a statuette of stone; he gripped it, and threw it as hard as he could towards the window. Towards the place where he thought the window was. He heard the pane smashing into pieces, but carried along by his own momentum, he tumbled, disappearing in the thick grayish mist.

The fresh air restored Napoleon Solo in total consciousness. Wherever he looked, he couldn't see his partner. The floor was hidden under a swirling grayish mist. No trace of his friend. He took a deep breath, and went in search of him.

* * *

The older Siamese strutted along, followed by a playful Paw, who looked quite pleased to meet again the Abyssinian cat. Cleopatra smiled at him. Whiskers muttered some greeting; leaping onto the post, he settled himself next to her. He looked amazingly grim.

-We have to talk, Cleo!

Cleo? Cleopatra sat tall on the post, staring at the Siamese.

-Shall I have to call you Arta? My name is Cleopatra!

Whiskers rolled his blue eyes.

-Strange people are watching your home, girl. We saw them last night.

She gulped. First, Cleo, now, girl! The Siamese ignored her black look, and went on.

-When your blond human friend and the dark haired man have left the building, those strange people were there, and they followed them.

Cleopatra instantaneously forgot her claim for policy.

-What do you say?

* * *

A cold sweat broke out his brow, as he tried to peer down into the mist. He moved slowly, in order to shake it as little as possible. At last, he caught his foot on something. Somebody. Illya. He leaned forward, grabbed some clothes, and dragged the body to the window. The Russian looked unconscious, but he suddenly choked, coughed, clinging to his partner's shoulders.

-We have to go, Illya.

-No!

Clear, unanswerable. Napoleon Solo knew better than to argue. They had to go: it was a trap, a Thrush trap. Some Thrush men were probably waiting, ready to grab hold of them.

-Come on, Illya.

-No!

The older agent was wondering if he would have to stun his stubborn partner, when he heard a great commotion, outside. Too late.

* * *

Illya Kuryakin slipped into an armchair, in front of his partner. He was still breathless, but almost triumphant. Uncle agents investigated around them.

-You couldn't be sure.

-It was a scenery, Napoleon. A pitiful scenery and a pitiful trap. The « mist » was barely effective.

Napoleon Solo rolled his eyes. Barely effective? But his friend was right. It had been quite spectacular; eventually, they were more or less fine.

-The drug wasn't lethal, Napoleon. It acted on the muscles, that's all. All that was Green's plan.

-So, our « treasure » must be in his office.

Illya Kuryakin looked lost in thought; he suddenly spoke softly.

-No, Napoleon. Whatever it is, it must be here.

Napoleon Solo disagreed.

-Much ado about nothing, Illya. A Shakespearean situation! Green tried to draw attention to this apartment. The truth is out there, in his office, or somewhere in the MET.

-Your quoting mood will be the death of me. The truth is here. There is no smoke without fire. Not Shakespeare, just popular wisdom.

* * *

-What do you intend to do?

-At the moment, nothing. Let them act on our behalf. We have the cat. They are kind enough to look for the secret for us. All we have to do is to wait.

His superior was in an optimistic mood, apparently. **He **was more doubtful. Of course, they have the cat. Uncle agents had been defeated, once. They wouldn't take them in twice. The Thrush man felt resentful. He could have shot Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, but had to obey his chief's stupid orders. The blond Russian and the New York Uncle Headquarter CEA were now entering the brownstone.

* * *

Cleopatra felt like in a panic. She trusted Il-ly-a, but she remembered her master. A loving, likeable man. She didn't always understand what he was doing. He sometimes ignored her, locked in his laboratory. But he respected her, he talked to her. No. He talked with her. He had explained his plan. She had noticed those strange people, and her master's anxiety. He had abandoned her. No, he had entrusted her to another man's care. And he had been killed.

* * *

A pane smashed into pieces, and a grayish smoke was coming out of the window. The two Thrush men startled. People were gathering, and stared at the building. Two silhouettes appeared.

Of course. Whatever happened, Solo and Kuryakin were alive. He looked inquiringly at his superior. The other man shook his head.

-No way. Too many people.

He hesitated, but eventually gave up. They had to go away, as soon as possible.

-Let's go. It was a Green's trick, probably, and the Uncle cavalry is to be expected! We'll wait and see... farther.

* * *

Illya Kuryakin smiled faintly; Napoleon Solo had reported to Alexander Waverly; apparently the Old Man hadn't appreciated the Grayish Mist Affair.

-We need Cleopatra, Napoleon. We'll have to take her there tomorrow. Napoleon? Is there... trouble?

The dark haired agent nodded.

-Your Cleopatra had run away, again.


	17. Chapter 17: To be or not to be a cat

-Where are you going?

Cleopatra had leaped down, and trotted to the door. She just turned her head.

-I worry about my friend, Whiskers. I want to know if everything is okay.

The Siamese gulped.

-Your... friend? The blond human?

The Abyssinian was already gone. Whiskers sighed. A human!

* * *

Victoria stretched herself. Those men ignored her and it was fine. She was safe, because they needed her, and they needed her alive. They would take care of her. Anyway, she was a cat. A very clever lady cat.

* * *

-She isn't on the roof, sir. No trace of her!

Alexander Waverly harrumphed, and the poor Lisa sheepishly sitting behind her desk, quivered. Theoretically, the cat could not go out of the building. She was inside. Theoretically. A mouse could neither enter the Headquarter, nor get out. A mouse, no. A cat... Lisa sighed with relief, when the receptionist informed her about Napoleon Solo's and Illya Kuryakin's coming.

Napoleon Solo couldn't help chuckling. Very busy people walked back and forth, and asked them about « A cat ? »

-Your Cleopatra is a damned pain in the neck, Illya!

The Russian looked around, thoughtfully.

-Too much noise, too much bustle. They won't find « my » Cleopatra.

And he went on.

-They don't need to...

Napoleon Solo's voice sounded different. Illya Kuryakin felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning to his friend, inquiringly, he saw an incredulous face. The dark haired agent raised his hand, and pointed at the corridor with his chin.

-Il-ly-a!

Two seconds later, the purring Abyssinian cat was snuggled up in her favorite's arms. Lisa remained open mouthed as she saw the threesome entering. Napoleon Solo shook his head, and whispered a « Don't ask. ».

The phlegmatic Waverly raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

Cleopatra, having drunk and eaten a little, sat on her cushion, in sight of her Il-ly-a, and started to clean herself. Licking her paw, in order to moisten it, she rubbed her mask, carefully. Quite aware that the three men were staring at her. Quite satisfied with this audience. Alexander Waverly cleared his throat.

-Our agents didn't found anything in Green's office, young men. Of course, he can have hidden it anywhere in the Museum. That doesn't improve matters for us.

-There was a risk in hiding « it » in the Museum, sir. Illya thinks that Green kept the safe, or whatever it is, at home.

Napoleon Solo had frowned: «_ the safe, or whatever it is _». They looked for something, and they still ignored what they were looking for: a safe, a chest, a box...

-A jar. It's probably a jar, Napoleon.

The infuriating look. The _« I-know-something-you-don't »_ look. Napoleon Solo met Waverly's eyes, and both of them sighed. Nevertheless, the Old Man asked obligingly

-Yes, Mr Kuryakin?

Illya Kuryakin smiled, this time with his _"I-am-so-glad-to-help"_ look and started to explain, obviously delighted.

-Green took interest in the goddess Bastet. He was very proud of Cleopatra, but I think that he had another purpose. Hieroglyphics, for Bast, are a jar for « bas » and a loaf of bread for « t ». « Bas » was a heavy vessel, used to store perfume.

Cleopatra was asleep, soundly asleep. She looked asleep. She was listening to Il-ly-a's explanation, and felt proud of him. A very clever young man.

-An old jar used to store perfume? What does it look like?

Napoleon Solo couldn't help smiling, when his friend stood up and walked towards the board. He drew two strange characters.

-This is « bas »; this is « t ». They added a second loaf of bread, for the feminine. Bas-t-t , Bastet.

_Illya Champollion, I presume?_ Napoleon Solo made hi best to hide his smile. Alexander Waverly studied the drawing.

-Is there anything else, about this Bastet, that might help us?

_Oh, no,_ Napoleon Solo closed his eyes.

-I don't know. However, Bastet had various surnames. I told you about _Eye of Ra_. She was also known as the _Lady of the East_, the _Light Be_arer.

Napoleon Solo sneered slightly. Illya Kuryakin immediately looked daggers at his partner.

-The morning, the sunrise could be part of this. Ra is a solar god.

_Perfect. A stubborn partner, a more stubborn cat, a jar, and... the sunrise. _It was a sort of game. A lethal one, anyway. Napoelon Solo guessed that Thrush men were thinking about the problem. What would they do?

* * *

He peeped at the cat. Alive? And why? A cat didn't speak. The secret could be tattooed under its fur. Perhaps it was something inside the creature.

Victoria stood, her tail pointed stiffly. She stared at him. Apparently, this stupid man ignored the law. The penalty for killing a cat, was getting killed. Egyptians were very wise people. This man was not. She started to plan. Escaping would be easy. They considered her as... a cat. A cat she was. They would realize it.

* * *

Alexander Waverly sighed. Some of his agents were still pacing up and down in the MET, looking for... looking for something. At least, they were a diversion. His top team, his two, well, three, actually, agents were back home. They would go to Green's apartment just before the sunrise.

* * *

The MET was overrun with Uncle agents. They were looking for Green's box. A box? Probably. He didn't like that, but they would have to play cat and mouse with the Uncle troop. And he didn't forget Green's home.

* * *

Cleopatra checked the spare room. « Napoleon » was asleep. He was really asleep. Then, she trotted towards Il-ly-a's bedroom. His favorite was asleep, too. Good. She leaped on the bed, and sat next to the young man. She looked at him. Intently.


	18. Chapter 18:Walk like an Egyptian

Men and Women got off the boats and set out to the temple, still singing and dancing. The temple? He knew that there was a temple. It was an evidence. This crowd looked amazingly both happy and concentrated. He frowned , taking some steps back to the trees. Where was he? What was this strange place? There was a temple, high trees, those people, quite unusually dressed. He had come here, already. He heard a familiar sound. It was a mewing. A very delicate, refined mewing.

A cat emerged from the temple. A beautiful cat. She walked down the path sedately, without any affectation. She trotted like a princess, the princess she knew herself to be. The princess she was, obviously. He flattened himself against the trunk, but the cat stopped just in front of the place where he was, her ears pricking up. He didn't breathe anymore. The cat shook her head with amusement and slithered across the path towards him.

-Il-ly-a?

She spoke. She had not mewed. She had told his name, distinctly. It was a dream. But he knew this place, this temple, those songs. Déjà-vu. Cleopatra. The cat looked like Cleopatra. It was a dream! He lectured himself, impatiently. But a twinge of pain startled him. The cat's paw had slightly scratched his ankle. His bare ankle? The cat stared at him intently.

-You are not asleep, Il-ly-a. Not really. Follow me.

He was barefoot, he wore this strange tunic, and the crowd was approaching. The cat insisted.

-Follow me! Don't waste time!

As he was still hesitating, the cat sighed and snaked between his ankles, in order to force him to move. He gave up, eventually, and spoke to the cat. It was a dream, after all. a sort of Illya in Wonderland...

-Are you... Cleopatra?

The cat smiled, and motioned him to follow her.

-I am the Lady of the East, the Light Bearer, the Eye of Ra... And you can call me Cleopatra, if you want. Come on!

He was barefoot, but didn't really feel the gravelly ground. They headed towards the temple, and the cat led him on the left side. They went through a narrow gate and found themselves in a rather dark room, that looked familiar to the Russian. The slim silhouette sat down in front of a wall, surveying it. Her golden eyes twinkled. The Russian agent came up, carefully. They were not in a temple. That was a living room. That was Green's living room. The cat still stared intently at the wall, at the bookshelves. He knelled down next to her.

-What do you expect me to do?

The cat leaned against him, purring, eyes closed.

Napoleon Solo stretched himself. A good night, at last. No nightmare, no talking cat. Speaking of that, the said cat wasn't on the couch. He chuckled: he could guess where was the stubborn lady. He craned forward in his friend's bedroom. Of course! Illya was still soundly asleep, the cat snuggled down beside his head, her paws entwining around the blond hair.

-Favored lady! I know some young women, at the HQ, who are longing for years to do that!

Cleopatra spread her paws, arching her back, still peacefully sleeping.

The older agent sighed, and made his way back to the kitchen. Some were sleeping, some would set up the breakfast.

A faint blow on his cheek finally woke him up; he opened his ayes, meeting to golden stones. Sparkling, purring stones that blinked with delight. He was in his bed, in his apartment, and Napoleon was bustling about in the kitchen. What an amazing dream, again! Not a nightmare, but however... He sat straight, and picked up the cat on his lap.

-Good morning, Cleopatra!

And he waited inquiringly. The sleepy Abyssinian yawned, licked her nose and stared at him. Then, she mewed her greeting.

-Il-ly-a!

And she snuggled down against his chest. He lay her carefully on the pillow, again soundly asleep, absolutely confident. An amazing dream. He got up, and cursed, as he felt a twinge of pain. He had walked on something... He looked down at his feet and froze. First, a small scratch on his right ankle. Then, his feet were covered with dust, and there were gravels under his soles. He turned to the cat, puzzled. Cleopatra lay on her back, her forelegs tucked up, a paw grabbing something, her nose quivering. She was dreaming. She was hunting. She was a cat, and he was going to have a shower.

As he shut the door behind him, Cleopatra, fully awake, took her Bastet posture. Good job! She raised a paw, studied it, licked it, and started to clean herself. Then, she would join « Napoleon », in the kitchen. It was breakfast time, and she deserved a reward.

* * *

-Look! Solo and Kuryakin! The boss was right.

-It might be a diversion. The others are investigating at the MET.

-But they are looking for something! They brought some equipment. Look at this case.

-Perhaps, wait and see. I am going to report about this.


	19. Chapter 19:May the cat eat you

Napoleon Solo pointed at an inscription on the wall next to the entrance:_ No pets allowed!_ It was underlined in red. He sneered and whispered at the bag.

-Keep quiet, young lady! Pets are not allowed, there!

Cleopatra's golden eyes twinkled in the darkness and she added this offending comment to the list. « Napoleon » could have to pay for that, one day or another.

A... pet? Dogs were pets, undoubtedly. Hamsters, canaries, even goldfishes were pets. From time to time, cats allowed human beings to consider them as pets. But they were not. Of course! Because cats were cats. They were companions. Free and willing companions.

A soft voice scolded the rude creature.

-Cleopatra isn't exactly a pet, Napoleon!

Good! Il-ly-a deserved a reward and she cooed a loud purr.

Napoleon Solo pouted. Cats were pets. Nice, clever pets, but they were pets.

Uncle specialists had investigated: the place was safe. No more surprise, no more trick. Probably.

The apartment had been cleaned, the window repaired. Illya Kuryakin put the bag on the table, and got it open.

Cleopatra went out, cautiously. Her ears pricked up, her nose quivering, she looked around, peacefully... and threw a fit. A furry tornado broke out. Napoleon Solo resisted the temptation and didn't crawl under the table. The room seemed filled with twirling Abyssinian cats, but the scene was amazingly silent. Cleopatra did not mew. She did not howl. No impact, no fall, no breakage. She flew.

And suddenly, she was back on the table, calmly licking her right paw, hardly out of breath.

Napoleon Solo frowned. He peeped at her and whispered.

-Was that a reaction to the drugged smoke?

Illya Kuryakin shook his head. It was not panic. He leaned forward and gently stroke the cat's chin. She purred, stretching her neck, eyes closed with blissful delight.

-Illya...

She looked daggers at the irksome creature, and arched her back, in order to show her delight. « Napoleon » went on.

-I am quite « illiterate », concerning cat habits, but I would like you to tell me what the hell we are here for.

The cat sighed, and leaped down on the floor. Then, she stared insistently at the dark haired man, and sedately trotted towards the bookshelves. She sat down in her Bastet posture, turning her back to them. Napoleon Solo felt amazed.

-Eventually... I think she wants to tell us something, Illya.

His partner smiled, came up to the cat and squatted down next to her. The older agent rolled his eyes; nevertheless, he joined them. To put the finishing touches, he squatted down, too. He could just picture it! The two top Section 2 agents, flanking a cat, crouched down in front of bookshelves. Great.

Cleopatra blinked at her Il-ly-a – He would understand – and stood up on her hind legs, effortlessly.. Then, she started to scratch the edge of the shelf. Illya Kuryakin faintly hissed and stroke the cat's back, whispering.

-Well done, Cleopatra!

Napoleon Solo cursed. The cat's claws had unstuck a thin strip of wood, opening a narrow cavity. Illya Kuriakin rummaged inside the hole with his communicator, and a key fell down. The older agent picked up the cat and looked deeply in the golden eyes.

-Blink, Napoleon. Be polite and gentle. Blink!

He blinked and Cleopatra imitated him.

-Tell me, girl, how did you know?

« Girl »! This « Napoleon » was incorrigible! But he looked genuinely admirative and she softly purred at him.

_-I know what I know because I am the One who knows, « Napoleon »..._

Of course the poor man did not understand.

Illya Kuryakin studied the key. It was alike the key of the apartment.

-We'll have to talk to the manager, Napoleon!

* * *

The man looked around. He was alone. Alone with the creature. He grabbed Victoria, and lifted her up, his hands under her forelegs.

-Now, tell me, damned cat!

And he shook her, ruthlessly. Careless human, she thought. Quick as a flash, she turned her head and bit his thumb. Then, she threw her own cat claws attack. He released his grip immediately, but his face, his arms were already lacerated. She did not waste time, and raced out through the open door. Careless! Negligent human beings! They wouldn't see her anymore!

* * *

-Look, what are they doing? We should...

-No, we have orders. Wait and see!

-Come on...

-I said: no.

* * *

The two agents and their ally stood in front of a door. Behind, the attic. As Illya Kuryakin was about to open, his partner held him back.

-Wait a minute. We have to be carefull. Remember what happened yesterday!

_Tstststs... _Cleopatra rubbed her head against her Il-ly-a's leg.

-I think we can go on, Napoleon.


	20. Chapter 20: A cat in the attic

Illya Kuryakin picked up Cleopatra and opened the door. Instinctively, Napoleon Solo stiffened, but nothing happened. The Russian smiled and came in. It was an attic. It was exactly what you could expect an attic to be. Dusty, piling up, untidiness, cardboard boxes, dilapidated shelves, chests, spiders... How lucky! Napoleon Solo thought.

-Weel, Illya, I am going to call for some help. Unless...

He came closer and stroked the cat's neck.

-Unless our young lady could do something for us?

The said young lady whipped the air with her tail, turning her head to her Il-ly-a. She was able to understand irony, and « Napoleon » was teasing her.

* * *

The two Thrush men were bored to death. They had been there for a long time. The street was deserted, the two Uncle agents had disappeared.

-Orders...

The younger had muttered, and his fellow knew better than to scold him, for he felt exactly the same. The beep startled them. Their superior's voice barked at them.

As they left the car and sneaked towards the house, the young man sneered. How funny! All they had to do was to keep an eye on a cat; and the damned creature had escaped. It had really escaped! The cat had run through the house, found a way out, and disappeared in the city. Where was it? They didn't know. They had tried to tail it, in vain. The thought of their fellows running after a damned clever cat was quite pleasant. And now, they had been asked to look for the Uncle agents. Finally.

* * *

Illya Kuryakin put Cleopatra on the floor. The Abyssinian sat down, raised her paw and began to lick it. Then, she combed her whiskers. She knew that it was a little irritating, but first, she needed her tools clean, then...annoying « Napoleon » was rather funny; she peeped at the dark haired man who was staring at her.

* * *

Victoria ran, ran, and eventually stopped. She had shaken them off, and she could now took time to look around. She knew where she was. She knew where she had to go.

* * *

Cleopatra stretched herself, arched her back, sniffed at the air. Napoleon Solo sighed and made his way back to the entrance of the attic, with his communicator, but Illya Kuryakin held him back by the arm, whispering.

-Shhhh, Napoleon.

He pointed at the cat. Cleopatra looked at her friend, and blinked. She trotted through the piles, the boxes, apparently aimlessly.

-Oh, Illya, she is looking for mice and rats! That's all! She is a cat!

She ignored the offending remark and went on. Sniffing, sniffing again, she would find it. It was there. She buried herself under a broken shelf.

_The two Thrush men looked at each other with disbelief. The Uncle agents were not in Green's apartment; Where were they?_

A feline imperative rang out. Cleopatra leaped on a stack of old books and mewed again at her human beings. The Russian sneaked lithely towards her. Napoleon Solo slid her communicator in his pocket and followed his partner.

Cleopatra's golden eyes met Il-ly-a's blue ones: the cat's head turned slowly on the left, and she jumped down. The blond agent crawled behind her.  
Napoleon Solo was not one to believe in anthropomorphic wild imaginings, but the sight was amazing. The Abyssinian was sitting in her Bastet posture, next to his partner. The two blond heads, the feline and the human, leaned against each other, staring at something. The older agent bent over them, and cursed. They were in front of a wooden box, which looked like to be one among countless similar wooden boxes in the attic. Cleopatra scratched sofltly the partition, and Il-ly-a 's fingers slipped deftly on it, grabbing the top. As it was not nailed nor sticked on, he removed it easily. Napoleon Solo leaned over and whistled with amazement. Taking away the partition, he freed a statue of the goddess Bastet. A really awful object. Illya Kuryakin stood up, and the two men were staring at it. A crudely shaped cat goddess, with garish colors.

-I guess that a specialist may have plenty of antique items at home, but...

-This is not antique at all, Napoleon.

Illya Kuryakin tapped on the head of the statue which sounded hollow;

Cleopatra pricked her ears up. She was not sure, but she had heard something. No time to waste. Of course, she trusted Il-ly-a. He would get it, but she had to take the problem in hand. Well, in paw. She mewed softly, in order to warn them, and leaped at the horrible thing. The statue fell and splintered. Cleopatra started to probe for something, but the Russian cursed and picked her up.

-Stop that! Show me you paws!

-Il-ly-a!

He was really nice, but they had no time. She wiggled, in vain. Il-ly-a held her firmly.

-I think that she wants us to look for something here, Illya!

Cleopatra purred. Eventually, she could do with « Napoleon »! He rummaged in the splinters, until his fingers met something different; A small linen bag. Cleopatra cooed with satisfaction. In the bag, a small key.

Napoleon Solo stared at the key.

-Left-luggage lockers...

The cat stiffened. She was sure, at the moment. Her golden eyes met Il-lu-a's, then Napoleon's. They had heard, too. Some people were coming up, carefully, more or less discreetly.

The dark haired man frowned.

-How many?

-Two.

Napoleon Solo got his communicator. While he was calling for help, Illya Kuryakin was looking around. Suddenly, he picked up a ribbon.

-Napoleon, the key!

Amazed, the dark haired man obeyed. At his surprise, the Russian gently tied the ribbon withe key round Cleopatra's neck. She was stretching it obligingly.

-What...

-Shhhh, Napoleon.

Illya Kuryakin lifted the cat, and looked deeply in her eyes.

-Cleopatra, our enemies are there. You hear them, don't you?

-Illya...

-Shhhhh. Cleopatra, when they'll open the door, you'll go out as discreetly as you can. Then, you'll run downstairs, and hide somewhere.

The blue eyes and the golden eyes. Cleopatra remained motionless, concentrated. The key glittered on her fur. Napoleon Solo couldn't help being fascinated. She listened at his partner. She listened, and she got it.

-When everything will be fine, you'll come back. Cleopatra? Yes?

No. No! She didn't want to leave them. But her Il-ly-a needed some help, anyway. She blinked, and mewed softly. The Russian put her on the floor, and the clever Abyssinian trotted towards the door. Napoleon Solo whispered.

-Illya...

-Our reinforcements are coming, Napoleon, but those Thrush men are just here. They could use some gas; I don't think that they'll try an attic-warfare. Cleopatra will be safe, and the key, too.

Napoleon Solo sighed. Cats were only cats. But was Cleopatra... an ordinary cat?

-My friend, I am eager to see Waverly's face when he'll read your report about that...

And the Two Uncle agents got their guns.


	21. Chapter 21: Bastet's wrath

Napoleon Solo knew that it was an illusion, but time had paused. They had sheltered behind piles ok boxes. He couldn't see the cat, but she was somewhere, next to the door. The enemy was behind the said door. They could hear them fussing, amazingly noisy, now. What were they doing? The door was unlocked. Could have they mistaken? Perhaps it was not Thrush. Of course, it was. Illya's instinct. His own instinct. And – he bit his lips – the cat's instinct. He tried to catch his partner's attention, but Illya was staring at the door. Fixedly. A golden, lithe silhouette appeared, climbing up an old table. Cleopatra. She was staring at the door, too. Fixedly. Suddenly, she leaped down, racing towards them, and she snuggled up to his partner.

The door exploded like the crack of doom, and everything flew through the attic. Wood, paper, wreckage. The two Uncle agents flattened themselves on the floor, Illya Kuryakin shielding the cat.

They went up to the attic. The manager had eventually told them that the blond guy had asked about a key. They stood in front of a wooden door, peeled off. They didn't hear anything, inside. Either the Uncle agents were already gone, or – and it was not encouraging - they were waiting for them. They had no choice: all that they could do was to break the door open, and to fight. And precisely, they wouldn't do that. They were not that eager to play sitting ducks for Solo and Kuryakin. The older man studied the place, as discreetly as he could, but the wooden floor didn't help. There was no other way. The younger knew that it was an illusion, but time had paused. They were outside. The Uncle agents were probably inside. Thrush versus Uncle, one more time. A door. A matter of patience. Patience meant time, and time, precisely, the Thrush men had not. Though the Uncle agents were apparently cornered in there, they had logically called for help. His eyes met his fellow's ones. Giving up? Staking their all? The older shook his head. He had heard his superior's tone, and pointed at the door with his chin.

Eventually, the downpour stopped, and Napoleon Solo craned forward, carefully. Through a sort of dusty mist, everything looked gray. No move. Where were the enemies? Where was Illya? A faint mewing caught his attention. Shhhh, he thought. Illya? They could hear her, too. But the attic was completely silent, now. Such a blast? There was no door, any more. No door, and the wall was dilapidated. There was no Illya. There were no Thrush birds, either. The cat mewed again, more insistently. Napoleon Solo cursed. Damned cat! Something moved, now. Of course. He blew the dust off his gun, on alert. A gray, dusty silhouette, walked silently towards him, looking at him up and down. A dusty Cleopatra. Dusty, and... bloody. Though, she didn't looked like to be... The dark haired man froze. She mewed again, loudly, desperately, and suddenly turned her back to him, trotting away, still mewing. Howling, crying. Napoleon Solo hesitated, but as he couldn't hear anything else than Cleopatra's yell, he crawled behind her. Something had happened. Illya?

Cleopatra sighed with relief. « Napoleon » was eventually following her. He would be able to help Il-ly-a. He had to!

Dominoes. Napoleon Solo cursed again. A heavy old closet had fallen down, and among the wreckage, he could see a gray hand. A head. Hair. Gray, all gray. Gray with a hint of black. Illya. The fingers were shivering. He was alive. Cleopatra mewed continuously, as he was extricating his friend. He had forgotten the Thrush men. Obviously, they were somewhere under all that mess. He gathered his strength and carefully heaved Illya's body away. Then, he sat down, and eased the limp body against him. Illya was breathing. A shallow but regular breath. His face was covered with blood. A pice of the closet had violently hit his head, near the temple. For all that his friend could see, there was no other wound.

Cleopatra was sitting in a Sphinx posture, staring at him. With his handkershief, he wiped the dust and the blood. It was impressive, but Illya was stirring, coming back to consciousness.

-Shhh, easy, my friend, easy.

The blue eyes blinked. Illya Kuryakin tried to sit straight, but stopped immediately.

-I told you, don't move. Everything will be okay.

Cleopatra smiled, stood up, but hesitated. Napoleon » was gently stroking her Il-ly-a's hair. He took notice of her.

-Illya? Look, just in front of you. Someone is worrying about you.

The Russian blinked again, his eyelids glued with blood and dust. A helpful hand cared about it, and he could see his cat friend.

-Cleopatra?

She looked at « Napoleon » inquiringly. He nodded, and she came up to the blond man, who eventually managed to sit straight. As he winced, Napoleon Solo, quite relieved, couldn't help to tease him, gently.

-Some headache, tovarish?

Cleopatra was snuggling to her friend. The Russian stroke her, looking around.

-Was that the End of the World?

Then, stiffening, he added.

-Where are they?

Napoleon Solo shrugged his shoulders. Wherever they were, they were obviously harmless. However, the reinforcements were about to come. The Russian chuckled softly. His partner looked very strange: his usually perfectly combed hair stood on end, entirely covered with gray white same dust was covering his face. A very, very old creature, with young eyes, young smile. The grayish face frowned. Napoleon Solo knew those twinkling eyes.

-Do you want me to tell you about The Night of the Living Dead, partner mine?

The Russian chuckled, wincing, anyway, and pointed his finger at the cat.

Cleopatra was relieved. Il-ly-a had saved her life - This closet would have crushed her – but he was fine. Now, she thought, first things first. She purred at her friends, took a step back, sat down, and went to work. Raising her right paw, she studied her fur. So much dust! But a well educated lady had to be clean and perfect. Il-ly-a leaned forward, and stroke her neck. The ribbon was still there, with the key. He took it away and handed the key to his partner.

-Listen, Cleopatra. Our friends are coming. They'll take us back to the Uncle HQ, and I'll help you with that. We'll fix it.

Voices. Footsteps. The Uncle agents rushed into the attic.

-Have you seen the Thrush men?

The agent's face turned ashen. Napoleon Solo frowned and insisted, as the others were looking after his partner.

-Are they dead? It was a terrible blast. A technician's mistake, probably. He?

The man stood with a faraway look. Then, he sighed.

-They are dead, Mr Solo. Undoubtedly. Concerning the bodies...

The man made an eloquent gesture. Illya Kuryakin commented, with a tense voice.

-This is not a Thrush explosive, Napoleon. It can't be a mistake. I think...

He swayed and put his hand on his friend's shoulder; Cleopatra sat down next to them.

-I think that we have been lucky that Cleopatra gave us the key of this attic.


	22. Chapter 22: Show must go on

-How is Mr Kuryakin doing, Mr Solo?

Just a polite question. Would Illya have been seriously injured, Alexander Waverly would have been aware of it. And Napoleon Solo would have been next to his friend's bed.

-He'll be fine , sir. It could have shattered his skull, but, as you know, Illya is... a thick head!

Waverly smiled, looking around. Napoleon Solo spread his hands, and replied to the inquiring gaze.

-Miss Cleopatra had seen at her friend to be comfortably settled. She terrified the nurse and volunteered for keeping vigil next to him. You know, it's really amazing. The way they...

Napoleon Solo stopped as an idea occured to him.

-Mr Solo?

-Excuse me, sir, but... About the cat, Cleopatra... did you choose Illya intentionally?

Alexander Waverly frowned, looking daggers at his CEA. He was surely not the one to assign a mission to an agent without thinking about it!

-I didn't toss up to decide, Mr Solo!

-Of course, sir. What I meant was... Well, she really likes him, she cares about him...

The Old Man raised an eyebrow. He wouldn't help his agent.

-So does he, and sometimes, they seem to...

Alexander Waverly stared at him, innocently. Napoleon Solo felt that he was getting himself in more and more of a mess. He sighed, giving up.

-Nothing important, sir.

He put the small key on the desk. The Old Man picked it up and studied it.

-It looks like to be a left luggage lockers key. This was in the attic? How did you...?

Napoleon Solo grimaced. That was the tricky point. Of course his sneaky pratner had managed, once more to escape from it. He related the whole story in a neutral way. He didn't hide nor enlighten anything trying to be as rational and as logical as he could. Then, he looked at his superior. Waverly kept silent for awhile.

-Fascinating.

They were looking at the small key.

When Napoleon Solo craned forward in his partner's bedroom, he couldn't help smiling. Illya Kuryakin, unusually relaxed, turned to him, with a finger on his lips. The cat lay, leaning against his chest, soundly asleep. Her head was cuddled up to his chin, her paws entangled in his hair. The older agent came in, silently, and sat next to his friend, whose forehead was covered with a white dressing. He had to give him notice of the last events.

-It was an evil trick, Illya. The explosives, the device... Green wasn't only a specialist of Egypt. He was a damned bastard. He could have killed...

The Russian cut in.

-Anyone who would have tried to force the door open. He thought that protecting the secret was worth the price. And...

He paused to stroke casually the cat's cheek.

-And, Napoleon, perhaps it happened just because we were inside. The key couldn't be found easily. Green didn't fear an ordinary housebreaker. Remember, the statue was really awful, and it was obviously a valueless fake.

He went on. It seemed that the trap worked if someone was inside the attic. Someone who had used the key. An innocent visitor would knock at the door. A true villain... Green had protected the secret, and his own life. Until he had entrusted Thrush with it, unfortunately. Napoleon Solo sighed.

-Quite reassuring, Illya. Poisoned mist, malicious blast... what's next? We have a key, but...

Cleopatra's ears quivered, her whiskers too. Her catnap had to end. Napoleon Solo pointed his finger at her.

-Anyway, Miss Cleopatra's skills are amazing. The way she got the first key, then the statue...

He hesitated.

-Illya, is there a drug, a smell, something which could lure a cat? She didn't know Green, nor his apartment, nor the attic! Okay, she is not an ordinary cat, but...

And he found himself in front of a fully awake Abyssinian lady, stretching her legs, arching her back. She looked at him up and down, and he could read her mind. _There is no ordinary cat_.

* * *

-A blast? What blast?

The Thrush executive was abashed, but he feigned anger, and shrugged his shoulders. Eventually, he dismissed his visitors, flatly. The cat was wandering somewhere around the city, and they have to get it back! Perhaps the creature would make its way back to... Where? The Uncle HQ? He sighed. And now, he had lost two men. A good day.

First, things had looked so simple, a Thrush routine. Then, all hell had broken loose: the German scientist who had hidden his formula, the cat, the MET, Green's death, and of course, Uncle. Uncle, and especially Solo and Kuryakin. It was another Thrush routine.

He felt ill at ease. Thrush versus Uncle, Uncle versus Thrush... They were looking for the same thing. None of them knew exactly what they were looking for. Nor where they had to look for it. The MET? Green's apartment? Switzerland? Green had left evil traps. The darn cat ... A good day. One comforting thought, nevertheless, was that Uncle agents were probably as worried as he was. But it was not that comforting, finally.

* * *

Illya Kuryakin studied thoughtfully the key. The Uncle agents sat in one of the spare rooms, in the HQ.

-It looks like to be a left luggage lockers key, Napoleon, but I don't think so. Too hazardous.

Cleopatra purred faintly. Napoleon Solo looked at her and whispered.

-Anyway, our technicians didn't find any mark, any sign. Perhaps we could ask Cleopatra?

Napoleon Solo was joking. The said cat sat enthroned, literally, on the couch, keeping an eye on her Il-ly-a. She didn't react. "Napoleon"'s ironical tone didn't fool her. Illya Kuryakin hissed softly.

-Employees have usually lockers.

The older agent shook his head. Of course, employees had lockers, in the MET, too. But Uncle agents had searched them, in vain. The Russian looked doubtful. Their technicians had searched Green's office, Green's closets, Green's rooms. He knew that, and he acknowledged their efficiency. But The MET was such a convenient place. It was safe. Safer than an apartment, safer than a station. Green worked there, as a scientist. He could go anywhere, he could stroll, he could wander as he pleased.

-We have to go, Napoleon. With Cleopatra.

The said Cleopatra nodded. Of course they had to go. So clever Il-ly-a.

Napoleon Solo rolled his eyes, feigning despair. Feigning? Barely. He was just guessing the scene. A squadron of infuriated Uncle agents, searching the MET, inch after inch, led by Her Majesty Cleopatra, planning their revenge on the CEA and his Russian partner. He couldn't help laughing at the thought. Illya Kuryakin frowned.

-I mean, now, Napoleon. We have to go there now.

Cleopatra mewed softly. Th dark haired man sneered. His friend was kidding!

-In the middle of the night, Illya? The Doctor let you leave Medical, but you promised ...

Meeting the blue eyes, he turned serious. Though he was used to tease his partner about his sometimes strange ideas, he knew better than to despise his instinct. Plus - but he would never had admitted it - the cat seemed to agree. Napolon Solo lectured himself. The cat ... was a cat.

-However, is it so urgent?

Illya Kuryakin was obviously puzzled. Urgent? Who could tell?

-No, probably not, Napoleon, but at night, there are no visitors, and just a few employees. If Green...

Napoleon Solo pouted. If the MET had to be blasted... He grabbed his communicator. They would need plans, and especially the "private" places. He saw another scne: Cleopatra trotting through the MET, motioning them to follow her with her tail, and the two top Section 2 agents behind!They needed some clearance, too, and some help. Thrush wouldn't give up, and they were probably keeping watch...

* * *

The man banged his fist on the table. Solo and Kuryakin hadn't left the Uncle HQ. They had probably got something, finally. Wait, and see. He had just changed orders. If his men could catch the cat alive, they had to. But if the Uncle agents were about to get it back, the damned creature had to be killed. As Uncle had already an advantage...

* * *

Victoria was exhausted, but quite proud of herself. Here she was! She had made it! Her eyes twinckled as she peered at the street. Home. Food, water, and rest. The wise Abyssinian hesitated. She wouldn't undervalue her enemies. Though she didn't see them, they were probably watching. She flattened herself against the wall, and looked around. An ironical voice startled her.

-Cleopatra? If i were you, I wouldn't go further.

She frowned. A Siamese cat was sitting above her. Two.


	23. Chapter 23: Listen to me

Would they move out? Cleopatra sighed, hesitating. She was alone, in this room, with him. With Il-ly-a. She got an opportunity. They were wasting time. Her ears pricked up, her golden eyes twinkled, and she stretched her neck.

* * *

-Who are you?

Victoria and the Siamese hissed the same question simultaneously. The two cats looked up and down at each other.

-You are not Cleopatra!

Victoria shrugged her shoulders. Of course, she wasn't! This quite rude Siamese – a Siamese! - obviously knew Cleopatra. Was he a friend? Could she trust him? Had she any choice? The youngest cat craned forward.

-My name is Paw. He is Whisker.

At least, this one was well educated.

-I am Victoria. I work here.

Whisker sneered.

-You... work here? With human beings? Like Cleopatra does? Abyssinian cats are quite strange. However, girl, if you want to enter, you'll have to come with us; There are people, there, who are watching over the place.

She stiffened. Girl?

-And they have guns. I saw them.

Paw had whispered proudly, and Whisker rolled his eyes. His tail whipped the air, and he motioned the Abyssinian to follow them.

-Let's go!

He turned to her and added, mischievously.

-Girl!

* * *

She took a deep breath, and softly called.

-Il-ly-a?

As this very moment, the door opened, and « Napoleon » came in. Of course, he stopped, taken aback, abashed. The cat narrowed her eyes, waiting for the blast, but the dark haired man burst into laughter.

-Illya, my friend, that's really amazing. I could have sworn that she was speaking, you know? She was just calling your name!

He walked towards her, and stroked her back, whispering ironically.

-I am jealous, young lady. Couldn't you try to mew Na-po-leon?

Cleopatra stiffened, her claws scratching the couch. Silly « Napoleon »! And then, her eyes met Il-ly-a's. He had heard. He stared at her. His blue eyes reflected amazement, doubt, and yes, something like wonder. It didn't last more than a few seconds. But Cleopatra purred faintly at him.

-Oh, what a nice cat! You are purring at me!

She turned to him, looking daggers at the stupid creature. He chuckled.

-You don't intimidate me, lady Cleopatra!

Napoleon Solo raised his head.

-Waverly is calling the Museum. Illya? How are you doing? Your head?

-Don't worry, I am fine.

How surprising. His partner was fine, as usual. Beaten, torn into pieces, shot, drowned, whatever their enemies could have thought about, he was fine.

But he didn't look like to be.

* * *

The three cats leaped on the roof. Whisker sat down, obviously absolutely satisfied.

-Here you are! What are you going to do, now?

The young Siamese smiled, and Victoria gently blinked at him. The older cat repeated.

-What are you going to do?

Victoria took some elegant steps towards the door, and turned to him.

-I have to report, Whisker.

_Show off_, the Siamese thought. _Those Abyssinian cats were all showing off. _He shrugged his shoulders.

-To report, of course...

-Victoria, if you meet Cleopatra, give her our regards!

She smiled at Paw, and nodded.

* * *

Napoleon Solo put the bag next to the door. His partner was studying the plan. His finger ran on the paper, and the cat, in her Bastet posture, was staring at him. The Abyssinian acted strangely. She fixed her golden eyes on his friend. An ordinary cat wouldn't have been that interested. Or she would have tried to play with the finger. This amazing creature looked fascinated. Or... but the Uncle agent pursed his lips. A cat. This was just a cat. An animal. He heard footsteps in the corridor, and a familiar voice.

-Youg men, we have a visitor.

Napoleon Solo smiled, and turned to Waverly. Then, he closed his eyes. No. Oh, no.

-Aren't they going to fight?

Victoria looked at Cleopatra, eyes wide-open with disbelief. Cleopatra creased her nose, rolling her eyes. Then, the two cats leaped onto the couch, and started to clean themselves, ignoring him.

Alexander Waverly felt uncertain. Victoria had been Cleopatra's double. For some reason, she had escaped, and managed to come back. Amazingly clever cats. But...

-Unfortunately, none of us speaks fluent cat language...

Illya Kuryakin stroked Cleopatra's neck. Waverly frowned. His Russian agent's comment matched exactly his thought.

-No, Mr Kuryakin. However, our Thrush friends are at bay, now. We can expect them to tail you, because of course, they won't give up. They have no choice, young men.

* * *

-I know the old man. Who are the others?

Cleopatra smiled.

-The dark haired one is « Napoleon ». He is nice, mostly, but sometimes quite dense, as you noticed. Well, he is a human being. The other is... Il-ly-a.

Victoria peeped at the blond, who was still gently rubbing her new friend's neck.

-And?

-He is my escort, you know. He saved my life.

-He looks gentle. He has a beautiful fur. Er... hair?

Cleopatra frowned. Il-ly-a was hers. Definitely. Victoria knew better than to go on.

-Anyway, you'll have to be careful. I met your Siamese friends, Whisker and Paw. They helped me to come in. There are people, outside, who are probably looking for you and your human fellows.

* * *

Illya Kuryakin stopped stroking the Abyssinian cat.

-We have to go to the MET, anyway, sir.

Napoleon Solo pursed his lips. Was it that urgent, finally? They could just as well wait until the next morning. Nothing would... _No. He was wrong. They had to go. As soon as possible. It was more than urgent. It was a matter of life and death_. He couldn't say why. They could just as well wait until the next morning. _They have to go. As soon as possible_... The Uncle agent shook his head. His superior and his partner were studying the plan. And Napoleon Solo froze, as he met two golden eyes staring fixedly at him. He could hear words. It wasn't that urgent. Logically, it wasn't. _But it was a matter of life and death, and they couldn't waste time. Logically they couldn't._

* * *

-Uncle left agents in the Museum.

-It's probably just a trick, some Uncle smoke screen!

The bald man sneered coldly. Looking up and down at the other, he stood up and came up to him. He bent over him, hissing.

-We have no choice, idiot! Thanks to your man's incompetence, the cat is wandering around! Green's apartment was not his lair. It was the MET. He lived there, more or less. He knew every inch of it. So, we are going to investigate there.

-But Uncle...

-Uncle agents are good boys. At night, they sleep. We don't.


	24. Chapter 24 Game over? Not yet

Some people dreamt about that. Being the only living human creature in a museum. Enjoying it, alone. Owning it.

Some people dreamt about that. A taste of thrilling. Witnessing strange, forbidden things, in the darkness and the complete silence. The ghosts of the Museum.

Napoleon Solo cursed. Statues were statues. Old statues. Paintings were paintings. And they were not alone. And it wasn't dark. And it wasn't silent. It was just boring. They had investigated, again and again. They had opened, pulled, pushed, lifted. Nothing. The cat? The cat was looking at them, her golden eyes wide open, like a very ordinary cat. He pursed his lips and pulled a drawer, ruthlessly, for the twentieth time. Of course, it fell down, everything being scattered on the floor. Cursing again, the Uncle agent started to pick up the various things. How interesting. Pens, hooks, nails, buttons – buttons?- torn paper – useless, he had already checked. Three times.-

-Illya, it's no use. We are was...

He froze, How strange! He had just realized that he hadn't heard any comment about his awkwardness, any snigger. Looking around, Napoleon Solo frowned. The locker room was quite small, with only a few closets. There was no place to hide. No trace of his partner.

-Illya?

His voice resonated. Where was he? No trace of the darn Cleopatra, either.

Illya Kuryakin smiled. His friend din't say anything, but he knew him so well. Napoleon Solo's gestures were unusually impatient. He drummed his fingers while he read some papers. He pursed his lips. And he was right, the Russian agent sighed. It was really frustrating. They had investigated, again and again, in vain. Cleopatra? Cleopatra was sitting next to him, licking her paw, cleaning her face, carefully. He bent over her, and stroke her head. What had he expected? The cat smiled and purred, blinking at him, encouragingly. Aamazing. Suddenly, her ears pricked up, and she stood up. Illya Kuryakin looked at her inquiringly, when he saw her racing towards the door. Where was she going? He didn't hesitate and followed her.

A slim, lithe silhouette appeared in the dim light of the room.. Her nose shivered, looking for a familiar smell, her tail whipping the air, silently. She stood there, for awhile, and leaned her head on the right. He was coming. His prey. His poor defenceless prey.

He lay down. The marble floor was cold, but the sand was stinging his eyes. It was unpleasant. He would have felt fine, without that burning wind, which dried his lips out, which dried him out to death. Which tore his skin.

It was such a desolate place, deserted and silent, except for the sinister cries of some ravenous creatures he couldn't see. their cries, and the flap of their powerful wings. No, it was wrong. He saw them. He saw their threatening black shadows on the marble floor. Their cries resonated in the room. If he could crawl towards the door, he might escape from them. He heard voices, too. Voices? That meant help, that meant rescue. His partner. his partner, and some guards? Why not? He had left him, carelessly. But now, they were close, so close, just behind this door. They would open, and his partner would see him. He would kill those awful birds. He moaned a cry. All he got as an answer was the evil snigger of the said birds.

The sand was slowly covering him, and he knew that he would be soon unable to breathe. He had to crawl towards the damned door, but he couldn't get a hold on this cold floor. A cold, clean marble floor. No sand on it. He still heard the voices, despite the hissing wind. No use. As he opened his mouth, again, the sand swept in, causing him to cough, to choke. No use. He couldn't articulate a word. His partner wouldn't come. The birds flied just above him. Closer and closer.

* * *

He hunched against the wind and took refuge behind a showcase. Wind? A hot, burning wind? He shook his head with disbelief. Where was his partner? He didn't like it. From the very first minute, he hadn't like it. This story, the cat, Green...

Here they were. In the MET. His partner had left him and he couldn't find him. He was in this huge room, with all those statues, those showcases. It was a museum. A well known museum, the MET. There were walls, floors, ceilings, the MET, New York.

So, where was the hell this damned wind coming from? The wind, and he realized it, not only the wind. Sand was now hitting his face, his neck, his hand, stinging him mercilessly, tearing his skin. The sunlight was dazzling, the wind burning. He felt thirsty, so thirsty. The sun, the wind, the sand were drying him out. In the MET. It was a joke, an evil joke. A new trick? He knelt down, curling in a ball in order to shield himself. In vain. The sand was covering him, slowly. He could hear the sinister cries of the vultures. Vultures? Were there any thrushes in the desert? In the MET? The marble floor was cold. He couldn't feel the sand on it. It was cold, and clean.

The sand covered him, slowly. The motionless silhouette, hardly breathing, was almost buried in it. Some guards would came in. They had to. Or his partner. But he knew. He knew that his partner was probably dying somewhere. Perhaps in this room, next to him. Covered with sans. The vultures were waiting for their dinner. A lethal nightmare. A sand storm.

The cat stretched herself, exhausted. Her golden eyes twinckled. The game was over.


	25. Chapter 25 And she did it again

-Cleopatra?

The Abyssinian cat smiled, and turned to the voice. He was there. He had found her. And they would be safe, both of them would be, now.

Illya Kuryakin stopped at the entrance with amusement. He would never tell her – he knew better - but Cleopatra was sometimes quite a show off. She stood in the middle of the room, dignified, and he was sure, exactly in the middle. She looked at him, her eyes twinkling, and she mewed faintly.

-Il-ly-a?

The Russian agent came up to her, crouched down, and stroke the blond fur.

-What...?

A fine sandy powder was falling down the floor. It was some sand, very fine sand. Cleopatra took some steps back and shook herself in a mist of golden powder. Quite magic, Illya Kuryakin thought. Magic, but strange.

-What's that, Cleopatra. Where have you been?

Cleopatra blinked at him, delighted. Il-ly-a knew. He knew that she understood. He knew that she could answer. She brushed his hand with her head and trotted to the showcases, her tail motioning him to follow. Illya Kuryakin sighed and complied.

* * *

Napoleon Solo felt aggravated. Where were they? He picked up his communicator, and the unexpected beep gave him a start.

-Illya? What the hell...

-Napoleon, you should join us. In the Goddess Bastet room.

-Illya?

The dark haired agent stared at his useless communicator. Typically Illya. He sighed, and complied. His friend's voice was just urging. He hadn't call for rescue.

* * *

_He was dying. Buried in this sand, so fine that it got in through all the gaps. Alone. Pitifully alone. And his partner was dying, too. Or dead. No rescue. He heard footsteps. It wouldn't fool him. He had heard voices, a few minutes ago. Hours ago._

-Illya! What...

And Napoleon Solo stopped. His partner had crouched down next to a limp body. He looked up at him, pointed his chin at the other side, and replied, with an amazingly suppressed voice.

-There is another one there.

-He is... ?

The Russian shook his head. The man was still alive. Barely. He wore the attendants' uniform, covered with a fine powder.

-You called...

Illya Kuryakin nodded, and pulled away the lapel of the man's jacket. A very familiar bird appeared. Illya Kuryakin had called for help, and some fellow agents were on their way.

Napoleon Solo whistled faintly. Thrush... He bent over, brushing the clothes.

-What happened? What's this powder?

-Sand. It's just sand, Napoleon.

The dark haired agent felt puzzled; his partner looked unusually unsure. The man's skin was dried out, his lips were parched, as if he had been lost in a desert. But they were in New York. In the MET.

-The other one?

The second Thrush man was in the same condition. Napoleon Solo grabbed his friend's arm, staring at him inquiringly.

-What happened, Illya?

-The Russian pursed his lips.

-I don't know, Napoleon. I was looking for Cleopatra. When I came in, she was there.

Napoleon Solo turned to the cat. Cleopatra was sitting in her Bastet posture, obviously waiting for something. Her paws had left precise traces in the fine sandy powder.

-She was covered with sand, the same sand, Napoleon.

He walked towards her.

-And she knew that those men were there.

-Il-ly-a?

Napoleon Solo startled. The cat was just mewing, of course, but it sounded amazingly – unpleasantly – as his friend's name. This creature was a bit disturbing.

-Yes, Cleopatra?

Fine! His partner answered! The cat mewed his name, and he answered. Cleopatra sighed, concentrating herself on the stubborn man. Her golden eyes wide open twinkled. She craned slightly her head, her ears pricked up. Napoleon Solo frowned. What was this about? What did she want? Because she wanted something. Obviously, she expected him to do something. Illya Kuryakin was gently stroking her, but she was still staring at the other Uncle agent.

-Na-pli-on?

And time froze. Napoleon Solo froze. Illya Kuryakin's hand froze.

Oh, no. She didn't. She couldn't. She hadn't. The two men looked at her, the Russian with a sort of delighted surprise – of course, he enjoyed it! - All they could see were large, innocent golden eyes, a quivering little nose, an impatient tail whipping the air, blowing up the sand. Then, they breathed again.

Quite satisfied, Cleopatra stretched her paws, and made her way towards a showcase. "Napoleon" 's face had been worth the effort. Not fair, perhaps, but so funny. Back to reality, she sat down in front of her target and mewed again. This time, a very ordinary mewing.

-I think she want us to remove the showcase, Napoleon.

Cleopatra scratched the said showcase, as a very ordinary cat. Though, Napoleon Solo thought, she was just answering Illya's comment. His friend cleared his throat, pointing at the furniture. The two Uncle agents pushed the showcase away, and a door appeared. Those doors you could find in many Museums. Doors which were barely visible. Doors which led to places where visitors were unwelcome. No lock, no handle. A hole. Illya Kuryakin stared at it closer. Then, he got his communicator, slid it in the hole, and turned it, carefully. The door gave way to what looked like to be a corridor, dimly lit. A golden arrow raced through it, howling loudly. The two men rushed behind her. Anyway, their people were about to take care of the Thrush birds.

_It was warm. Hot. A small room, square, with boxes, bags. Piles of old files, dusty._

_The floor was covered with a very fine sandy powder._

_In which one could have seen cat's traces._

_The wind blew up the sand in a light cloud._


	26. Chapter 26: What will be will be

They walked carefully along the narrow corridor, but Cleopatra was conspicuously absent.

_The sun was probably burning everything outside. The man knew that until he would manage to stay next to the old temple, he would be safe. He had looked for this place for years, for the entrance for months. Whatever could happen, he was not one to give up._

-Look!

Illya Kuryakin had stopped in front of a door, half open, through which an amazing golden light bathed the corridor. Napoleon Solo sighed impatiently. Amazing? He was a man of reason, fed up with all those « strange, amazing, abnormal... » words. Taking a step forward, he pushed the door and came in. Amazing... ? What could be "amazing"? They were in a Museum, in New York.

-Oh my God!

The Russian agent raced in the room. Napoleon Solo stood, with arms dangling, looking daggers at the Abyssinian cat. The said Cleopatra had proudly a big mouse in her jaws. A rat. The dark haired agent, obviously infuriated, hissed at his partner.

-Do you realize, Illya, that we are just making fools of ourselves? We... we followed that damned feline creature, she led us in a storeroom, just in order to catch a mouse? So, where is that secret? Look!

The voice and the delivery betrayed his anger. Illya Kuryakin frowned. This sudden blaze of anger was quite unusual, though – and the Russian looked around – they were surrounded by brooms, buckets, floor clothes, shovels, wood... In the middle of the room, a very ordinary cat, beautiful, yes, but very ordinary. A hunter and her prey.

-Oh, come on, Illya!

Napoleon Solo turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring the cat.

Cleopatra whipped the air with her tail with satisfaction, dropping the rat. Good, « Napoleon », good. Peering at her Il-ly-a still lost in thought, she mewed faintly. The door closed, in silence.

* * *

When Napoleon Solo went out of the corridor, he raised his eyebrows: the room was crowded with Uncle employees.

-Oh, sir, you are here. Is everything okay?

The CEA brushed away the question and pointed at the bodies. The uncle agent shrugged his shoulders. The two Thrush men would survive, but it had been close. They had been burnt, torn, dehydrated...

-... and they were terrified, sir, really terrified. The Doctor had to sedate them, because they were moaning, whining about big black birds, and sand storm. Here, in the Met! Though...

The man pursed his lips, hesitating.

-Though... what?

-There is this sand, there, and... it's amazing, sir, but...

-Oh, that's enough!

The harsh tone gave them a start. This wasn't the usual Napoleon Solo's mood. The dark haired man took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down.

-It was probably one of their trick, a drug or something else. For once, they trapped themselves, that's all. Illya?

The other man shook his head. Illya Kuryakin wasn't there. Napoleon Solo cursed, went back to the door and called his partner. In vain. There was something going on that he didn't know about, and that he didn't like.

_The man flattened himself against the wall, hardly breathing. The chest was there, left by the thieves, because it was too heavy. Stone. Sandy colored stone. He came up slowly, almost respectfully, and grabbed the top, pushing it back carefully. Here it was. He picked up the wooden box, hugging it as a baby. The dream of all men and women for several thousand years, and it was not a dream anymore. A dream or a nightmare. The most lethal weapon._

_

* * *

_

And suddenly she sang. Illya Kuryakin startled and looked at the cat, his blue eyes wide open. The cat... Cleopatra... she was singing. A melodious mewing, soft, pure, which filled up the small room. The Russian took some steps towards the cat, feeling dizzy, though this dizziness wasn't unpleasant. Cleopatra stretched her head, still singing, pleading for him to stroke her. As he bent over her, he suddenly passed out, and fell gracefully next to the cat. The Abyssinian lay down, her head leaning against her Il-ly-a's.

_He was pleasantly dozing. The heat could have been oppressive, but a gentle breeze cooled it down. Peace, calm, and silence. No... He could now hear some distant sounds. He sighed and opened his eyes. Above him, he saw tall trees. A grove of trees. He stood up and brushed his tunic. His tunic ?_

_What... ? Where... ? He looked around. He knew this place. He had already been there. It was not the close room, nor the Museum. He was going to hear music. And voices. There was a shrine, somewhere, next to him. He knew it, though he couldn't say why he knew it nor where he was. There was a road, paved with stones. A little farther, there was the Nile. The Nile? And now he heard the music: people were singing, with flute and sistrum. They were coming there, and the Nile was covered with their boats. The déjà-vu feeling was uncomfortable._

_-Welcome in Bubastis, Il-ly-a..._

_A soft feminine voice. Gentle, though vaguely amused. He startled anyway and turned to the woman. In front of him, there was the shrine, of course, and in the shrine, a statue. A beautiful statue. The goddess Bastet._

_-Listen to me, Il-ly-a._

_A familiar shape jumped down the pillar, and trotted towards him. Golden eyes blinked at him, and Cleopatra rubbed her head against his ankle._

_-Mererou loves you, Il-ly-a._

_-Mererou?_

_The Russian agent shook his head. No. He was just talking to a statue. Worse. There was no statue. He knew where he was. He was somewhere in the MET. Whatever..._

_-We can't waste time, Il-ly-a. Listen to me._

_He stared at the statue, defiantly. He was Illya Kuryakin, the New York Uncle HQ Section 2, number 2. Napoleon Solo's partner, and the said Napoleon was probably mad at him._

_-No, Il-ly-a. Your friend is not mad at you. He is worrying about you. Sit down and listen to me._

_And the soft, gentle voice went on speaking. The blond man was sitting on the sandy ground, the Abyssinian cat cuddled against him._

_

* * *

_

Napoleon Solo cursed, as he was trying to force the door open. Who had locked it? And suddenly it gave way. Illya lay down on the floor, and Cleopatra's nose was running on his face. She raised her head, as the dark haired man came up to them. The blond man stirred, and opened his eyes.

-Illya? How are you doing? What happened?

His friend's blue eyes looked haunted, for a few seconds. Then, the Russian smiled faintly.

-I am not sure, Napoleon. But I am fine, now.

Napoleon Solo rolled his eyes. Illya Kuryakin said that he was fine. Quite reassuring! He helped him to get up, and tried to drag him to the corridor.

-No, Napoleon. What we are looking for is here.

And he began to pull away the brooms and the pieces of wood. His partner was taken aback. At least, the Russian pointed at a dilapidated metal chest. Napoleon Solo sighed but cursed, as he bent over the chest. On the top, two strange marks were engraved. Two well known marks. Pawprints. A faint mewing caught his attention. Cleopatra stared at him, inquiringly, expectantly. Illya Kuryakin stood, next to the chest, motionless, fascinated. The cat mewed again, louder. She was obviously waiting for him to say something.

-Okay, girl, go.

Cleopatra came up to the metal box, stood up on her hint legs. Then, she looked at Napoleon Solo, again. She was a cat, but her eyes, her features were so expressive. He nodded.

-Yes, Cleopatra, do it.

She put carefully her paws on the prints. A clink. Napoleon Solo lifted the top of the chest, and smiled.

-Look, Illya! There is a wooden box. Illya?

Illya Kuryakin stood next to the chest, still motionless, still fascinated. He startled at the familiar voice. Joining his partner, he put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. Strangely, he didn't pay any attention to the box. Napoleon Solo went on.

-We got it, my friend! Well done, young lady. Mr Waverly will congratulate you!

As he was getting his communicator, his partner grabbed his wrist, shaking his head.

-No, Napoleon. Don't do that. Not now.

The Russian picked up the box, and before his partner could do anything, he took the top away.

-Illya! No! It's dangerous!

Illya Kuryakin held a roll of something which looked like to be a papyrus.

-The formula? Is there anything else, in this box?

Napoleon Solo was puzzled. This wasn't very scientific. Archaeology? Yes, but a modern lethal secret, a chemical weapon, written on a papyrus? A very clever hiding place, eventually. His partner looked puzzled, too, staring at the roll. The dark haired man chuckled, eventually.

-Well, we'll give that to Waverly, and some people will enjoy themselves with it!

Cleopatra mewed again. Il-ly-a!

The Russian agent's eyes met his friend's, and Napoleon Solo's smile faded. Illya Kuryakin looked suddenly a hundred years old, overcome by something unbearable. They had defeated Thrush, they had got the secret. They had fulfilled their assignment. They were fine, all of them. Nevertheless, his partner was uncertain, hesitating.

-Illya?

-Napoleon... I... There is something I have to tell you about.

The cat mewed insistently, her ears pricked up, her golden eyes twinkling. Illya Kuryakin peered at her.

-Shhhh, Cleopatra. I must tell him.

Napoleon Solo was still holding his communicator, and its beep gave him a start. Of course, the agents, in the Museum, were worrying about them.

-Please, Napoleon...

His friend had just whispered. Napoleon Solo gave some orders. Then, he raised his hands, and waited.

-Let's sit down, Napoleon...

* * *

They kept silent. A very long, very heavy silence. The two men, face to face, and the cat, in her Bastet posture. Napoleon Solo rubbed his face with his hand, and cleared his throat.

-And it was not a dream, Illya?

The blond man shook his head. Neither a dream, nor an hallucination. Napoleon Solo sighed. Of course, it was not a dream. It was ... It was a wonderful secret. The most wonderful one. It was a terrifying secret. The most terrifying one.

-I am sorry, Napoleon, I had to tell you. This could save so much lives...

It could. But Napoleon Solo replied grimly.

-This could destroy the world, Illya.

The Russian repeated thoughtfully.

-It could destroy the world.

Napoleon Solo sighed.

-It could save so much lives...

Illya Kuryakin got up, slowly, and picked up a metal bucket. Napoleon Solo dropped the roll inside. They looked at each other. Napoleon Solo handed some matches, and they stroke two of them. Cleopatra couldn't help purring with relief. All of them were staring at the smoke, fascinated.

* * *

_The two Siamese cats were watching over the street. So, Miss Cleopatra was back, alive, and they would probably have time to meet again._

_

* * *

_

Alexander Waverly frowned. At least, Thrush would never get the formula. No one would never get it, and eventually, that was good news. The two agents were waiting for his comment.

-Well, Mr Solo, Mr Kuryakin, you did your best.

Someone mewed, and Alexander Waverly smiled at the beautiful Abyssinian, settled on her Il-ly-a's lap.

-So did you, young lady. Your master should have thought about the damage caused by the damp... We'll see at giving you a new home.

Cleopatra frowned, and cuddled against her favorite. A new home? She had one, already! Waverly's eyes twinkled.

-Mr Kuryakin? Could you take her at you home, for awhile?

The Russian nodded and smiled at Cleopatra, just whispering.

-For the eternity, sir.

* * *

Alone, Waverly closed the file and sighed. One day, he would find what had happened. Exactly.

* * *

-Eternity... We could have got it, Illya. For us. For all the people.

-We could have.


End file.
